Pretty Woman
by Liez
Summary: Genrou is a high school dropout who can't seem to hold a job. In the hopes of winning the prize money, he crossdresses as a female model in a prestigious competition...and catches chief photographer Houjun Ri's eye. [Ch27 up] [an updated]
1. Author's Note

5th September 2004

**Author's Note**

-cough- I realize that my last update was close to a year ago, despite my assurances that I was getting around to finishing it up. I am profoundly sorry, very embarrassed, and now come bearing sincere apologies.

I haven't come back to FFN for a long time...I confess I lost a fair bit of interest after the NC-17 sections were banned. Anyway...I happened to surf by my profile earlier. In short, I read the latest reviews for this story, reread the story, and felt sufficiently inspired to come up with an extra-long, tying-up-loose-ends chapter.

It just occurred to me. Is there still a TasChi following on FFN anyway? =/ I don't seem to see a lot of the pairing's stories on the recent pages.

To old readers/reviewers (if you're still around =p): All updates are obviously for you. Your comments are appreciated time and again, and you have my undying gratitude for still reading what I have to say, and who hopefully can bear to continue from where I left off after such a long absence. Of course, time-wise, it _has_ been two years since I started this; I therefore beg pardon for any definitive changes in style, and as always, ask for constructive criticism.

To new readers: Hi. =) Story's that way.


	2. Prologue

Prologue

With a loud sigh, the manager of the agency entered his office and dumped his bag carelessly on the ground, nudging the door close with his foot before trudging to his desk. A tray of envelopes and letters, spilling with long-winded contracts and documents, made Myou Jyuan wish, at that very moment, for a cup of scalding hot black coffee. With three cubes of sugar.

He flipped through the mail, scanning through the ones that looked important, and throwing the ones that didn't back into the tray for tomorrow. "Advertisements, billboards, magazines," he mumbled, thumbing through the stack when his eye suddenly fell on a plain brown envelope. On it was scrawled, in his chief photographer's slightly loopy handwriting, 'Chinoarov Competition Results'. He looked at the large brown envelope, back to the stack of papers, and then made a snap decision, shoving the remainder of unsorted mail into the drawer and reaching for the former instead. 

He walked around the large desk and planted himself in the soft, high-backed chair with an exhalation, still holding the envelope in one hand. With a silent prayer, he opened the flap, and shook the photographs out onto the tabletop. 

The first photo that caught his attention was of one of the agency's own models, Nuriko. The backdrop was a cloudy shade of sky-blue, and the object of advertisement was a brand of drink. Houjun had captured the model's tall, willow-like profile superbly on his lens, but the picture had only obtained a third placing in the Photographic Section.

He made a reminder to himself to put the photograph of Nuriko into the violet-haired man's portfolio, and then continued looking through the pictures, when he saw the brightly-labeled photograph from deep within the stack with the words 'First Prize for Cover Girl Section' scribbled on it. He pulled it out, and blinked.

The model had been captured against a soft, pastel turquoise background, and was turned half-away from the camera with the face looking full into the center. And it was the face that captured Myou Jyuan. 

Smooth, with high cheekbones and straight, charmingly asymmetrical features, half-lidded eyes that were outlined with smoky mascara, immediately expressed both sensuality and definition. Lips painted a light pale pink were slightly parted in a small smile, and there was a stubborn, almost masculine tilt to the lines of the jaw and face itself. A smooth curtain of rich, deep-rose colored hair framed and fell lightly to the sides of the face. Clothed in a simple black dress, with only a silver choker around a slender neck, the model practically radiated with inner light.

Below the photograph, in a small, neat print that marked the official tag of the competition entry was the name Tasu Leika.


	3. 1: Accidents at work

Chapter One

"Can I have ya order?"

Ayuru barely concealed his distaste at the street slang of the waiter, but managed to keep a remarkably straight face as he placed an order of steak and vegetables. "Oh, and add a bottle of red wine. Vanilla."

As the red-haired waiter left, he folded the menu and placed it on the table, tucking it neatly into the holder. His dinner companion, the manager of the company, sat opposite him with a smile lurking at the corners of her lips.

"Being fastidious again, Ayuru?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "Come now, Soi. People should never speak like that. This is a top-grade restaurant, for goodness sakes. I do wonder how that boy managed to get himself a job here."

Soi laughed. "Perhaps he has high connections," she said, arching one eyebrow slyly at the boss of the company, who suddenly broke out into a boyish smile, flipping his blond fringe over his brow with one hand. 

"Perhaps. I doubt it. Here's a toast to you for tomorrow. For luck. Not that I think you need it."

They shared a smile.

@@@

Genrou grabbed the plates from the counter before waltzing off with the tray balancing precariously on his arm. He didn't like this place, posh and stiff as it was, but he needed the money.

*Flashback

"Hey, Genrou!"

He turned to see Kouji, one of his better friends, who had already obtained his degree and was currently working at a manufacturing firm in town. He had made friends with the older boy when he had first entered school, and Kouji had been assigned to be his mentor because the latter was in his final year. Even though Genrou had dropped out a year later due to sheer lack of interest, the friendship had remained.

Kouji caught up to the redhead, then slung an arm casually around the younger man's shoulders, his briefcase hanging casually from two fingers and his checkered jacket over one arm. "What have you been up to lately, kid?"

"Trying to get a job," he replied glumly, walking alongside Kouji. "Seems like there's no place that wants me. I'm too stupid."

He felt his friend pause, and sigh. "You're not stupid, Genrou. I've told you that before. You're just…well…"

"Lazy," Genrou supplied, earning a laugh from Kouji.

"That's right."

Genrou exhaled loudly as they continued walking. "My mom's going to kick me out of the house soon, I swear it. Says I'm a bad influence on my sisters. I wanna have the cash to live on my own, ya know?"

Kouji chuckled. "If you really want one, I guess I could pull some strings, Gen."

His friend brightened. "Ya could?"

They rounded the corner, and came face to face with a dark, almost antique-looking building across the street. The lights within and without were soft, and Genrou could almost see the luxury oozing from the carpets before the tall glass doors.

"My friend owns that restaurant," Kouji said affably, unwinding his arm from around the younger man and smiling. "Think you could handle being a waiter? One of his people just quit, and he wouldn't mind the help."

Genrou raised his eyebrows. "Is the pay good?"

Kouji nodded towards the door. "What do you think?"

*End of Flashback

As he tripped slightly and muffled a curse, he thought about that day, two weeks ago. Now he had to deal with fussy customers, women with big hair, and men who thought that they could rule the world with their fancy cars and huge Rolexes. What had possessed him?

_Money,_ his brain chimed happily.

"Shut up," he muttered to himself.

He was so lost in his own brooding that he didn't notice the double-breasted suit in front of him. Not until it met him head-on, sending the plates flying through the air. And to his horror, it was the blond man he had served earlier, with a decidedly less than compassionate look on his face for the sauce that was now trickling its way down the expensive-looking material in a dark brown stain.

@@@

He was fired.

@@@

Genrou walked along the dark street, his head hanging, his hands shoved into his pockets glumly.

_I can't ask Kouji for help again. Shit, what am I gonna do? _

Life sucks.

He continued walking, his thoughts turning darkly in his head, alternating between wanting to hex the blond man who had screamed and threatened for his release from the restaurant, or from wanting to kick himself for being such a klutz.

_No, it definitely wasn't my fault. The idiot should have watched where he was going…I had a huge tray in front of me loaded with his food…he has nerve pointing his dirty finger at me…_

Not that it changed anything. He was officially out of a job. Again.

He crashed into a lamp-post. 

Five minutes, a litany of curses in four different languages, and a throbbing headache later, Genrou picked himself up, dusting himself off and scowling at nothing in particular, when a flash of white paper tacked to the post caught his eye. He bent closer to read it.

CHINOAROV PHOTOGRAPHIC/MODELING COMPETITION

20TH JANUARY 2002

THINK YOU WANT TO MAKE IT BIG? BE A COVERGIRL? THINK YOU'VE GOT THE X-FACTOR? COME ON DOWN TO CAPRI STUDIOS AND GET A FREE PORTFOLIO! JOIN THE CONTEST! WINNING PRIZE IS $5000 AS WELL AS A CHANCE TO BE THE FACE THAT EVERYONE WILL BE TALKING ABOUT!

Genrou stopped reading the moment his eyes caught the prize money figure. 

__

Five thousand dollars…

His mind whirled with the information, processing, thinking hard. The 20th was…tomorrow, wasn't it?

He ran all the way home.

@@@

[The next day]

Houjun fiddled with the camera, tugging at the sleeves of his loose yellow button-down a bit, and adjusting the focus on the lens as he set the tripod up in the studio. He was one of the many photographers who was there for the Chinoarov competition organized by Capri Studios, a conglomerate well-known for it's talent scouting. He and the rest of the selected photographers would be submitting their pictures, and the winner would be picked from the entries, which meant that a hefty commission would be in for the photograph that had taken the photo as well. He could hardly wait.

It was almost ten-thirty. There was already a line of girls waiting outside, some tapping their feet impatiently, clutching bags of clothes, and huge make-up boxes that almost made him wonder if they were planning on careers in Chinese opera instead. 

The clock struck the half-hour. The doors were opened.

Shrieks and screams stampeded into the cool, air-conditioned, formerly quiet hall, as Houjun grinned and stretched. It was going to be a long day.


	4. 2: Sibling love

Chapter Two

__

Mmm…

He was walking up a podium, there were cheers, screams, flowers being tossed his way as he proceeded to the stage, where a large check with the digits 5 0 0 0 printed on it in big blocky letters awaited him. 

He tried to get up, to walk up the steps, but realized to his horror that he was wearing a skirt. A skirt! Around him, the audience began to jeer, and then suddenly, the sprinklers were turned on, and alarm bells began to ring shrilly…

He awoke with a start, his heart racing as he reached out blindly to smack the alarm clock into oblivion. His shirt was sopping wet, his hair damp and hanging in his eyes as he looked up to see a brown-haired girl holding a bright red pail in her hands, bent nearly double laughing.

"MIAAAAKAAAA!" he growled, leaping up and wrapping himself around his twin sister despite her violent and very vocal protests. "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YA NOT TA DO TH—"

Their mother stuck her head into his room. "Is anything the matter, Genrou? Miaka, sweetie?"

He leapt away, bristling silently. "Nothing's wrong, mom." 

Miaka let out a choked, and almost nervous, giggle. "Heh, that's right, nothing's wrong, mommy," she echoed cheerfully, nudging the pail discreetly behind her with her foot. "Nothing at all."

Her twin brother exploded the moment the door swung close again. "You sneaky little—"

"I'll scream for mom!" she threatened.

He slumped back onto the wet sheets, defeated. 

"Anyway, it's almost four," she continued, bending down to retrieve the pail and lug it back to the bathroom adjoining his room and hers. "You're a pig to sleep so late, Gen-chan, and—"

"IT'S ALMOST FOUR!" he screeched, hopping off the bed and racing to the toilet. "Oh my god, oh my god," he kept chattering as he brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, before running back to his room and pulling out some clothes at random. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

He rushed past a befuddled Miaka, who stood there gaping at her brother. "What are you late for, Gen-chan?"

He mumbled something incoherent and stuffed his things into a small pouch, before he skidded on the wet bathroom tiles and burst into her room, slamming the door shut behind him and accidentally locking her out. Ignoring his sister's outraged shout, he began to rummage through the mess that decorated Miaka's room. 

"Get out of my room, Genrou, or I'll scream, I swear!"

"Girls shouldn't swear!" he hollered back, grabbing a black rumpled dress from the floor and swiping a silver choker from the dresser, dropping it into the bag along with a few other items as well. "I'm going out!"

He opened the door and ran downstairs.

@@@

Houjun gave Nuriko a thumbs up as the slender male model sauntered past him, giving him a peck on his cheek. Nuriko was a regular with the agency Houjun worked with, and incidentally, Houjun had been the one who had done up the lavender-haired man's portfolio. 

"You'll do fine," he laughed tiredly and gently nudged Nuriko away. "Now shoo, good-looking. I've still got work."

"Don't stress too much, Jun," the younger man prodded him, concern in his voice. "You need a coffee or something?"

He thought a moment, and then nodded a grateful thanks. "Yea, that'd be good."

Houjun glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. Half an hour more, and thank god, the crowd had already thinned out in the early afternoon. There were only a few girls left waiting, and he stood, trying to relax his cramped arms as the next girl entered from the adjoining studio where Doukun was working. Doukun was also from the agency Houjun worked with. Myou Jyuan had been pleasantly surprised when his son had decided to take an interest in the business.

He smiled at the girl and nodded his encouragement as she posed. Albeit a little too stiffly, he decided. 

_Click._

@@@

How did girls wear this stuff? 

As Genrou stepped out of the changing rooms, his jaw dropped and he very nearly turned back into the cubicle. Instead, he stood there, his arms hanging lax by his sides, his eyes wide in amazement and horror, at the sight that greeted him in the mirror.

The dress was vaguely obscene. It bared both shoulders, and was held up only by two thin straps that resembled spaghetti. It was low cut, and had built in cups. 

_Cups!_ He could feel a flush creeping onto his cheeks even as he tried to tear his gaze away from the reflection. He had never considered that aspect of pretending to be a woman. 

With a low growl, he yanked the rubber band off his hair, letting it fall messily to his shoulders as he frantically ran his hand through the unruly locks, his other hand clumsily grappling with the lip-gloss he had filched from Miaka. 

"This had better be worth it," he grumbled, as he grabbed the small bag and stuffed everything he was holding inside. He glanced at his watch and nearly screamed again as he scrambled for the exit. 

The door of the changing rooms slammed shut behind a flurry of muted curses.

@@@

Doukun rubbed his eyes wearily and slipped on his spectacles, looking up just as someone burst in. His jaw dropped.

The woman before him was tall and slender, and she looked as though she had just come from the gym, fresh and glowing as she was. Her hair, tousled and as red as crackling coals undermined by a darker shade, fell in soft waves around her face. She was well built, with the square shoulders that clothes were made for, and a slim silver choker was tied around her neck, setting a glittery effect to the simplicity of her outfit.

She had full lips spread slightly, shining with pink gloss, and wide eyes that were heavily outlined. _The eyes…what an unusual color._ They were flashing dark amber, with flecks of gold that he could see from the few feet that separated them. 

Hastily, he reminded himself to be professional, and, picking his jaw up and blinking a few times to reassure himself that his eyeballs had stopped goggling, he smiled at her and gestured to the backdrop. 

"Which section are you competing for?"

She cocked her head and looked at him wordlessly.


	5. 3: New experiences

Chapter Three

_There are sections for this?_ He could feel a bead of sweat trickling down from the back of his neck down past his shoulder blades and into the dress. Panic threatened to overwhelm even the temptation of five thousand dollars, and he almost turned tail to get out of there when the young photographer suddenly laughed.

"The cover girl section, of course…?"

Genrou nodded.

"Well just let me fill in this form, and we'll be all set. Do you already know how to model?"

Genrou closed his eyes and begged for the restraint that would keep him from changing his mind and just bolting home. _Five thousand dollars…five thousand dollars…five thousand dollars…what the hell possessed me? …Five thousand dollars…five thousand dollars…_

"Well then, in any case, just stand over there and relax, all right?" the photographer smiled at him again. Genrou could feel shivers crawling up his spine. _He can tell that something's wrong. I bet he can. I'm in trouble. This is never going to work—_

"Smile!" He felt his lips freeze in what he hoped was a passable attempt at appearing natural.

_Click._

@@@

Doukun put the camera down and walked over to pick up the form. He scanned through it a while, then turned to face the woman. "You were supposed to get one of these at the counter and fill it out," he remarked with a small laugh. "But I can see you didn't, so after this just hold on to this and pass through the other rooms okay? The other photographers will know what to do."

He slipped the small roll of film he had taken into the attached plastic cover that backed the form, then something occurred to him, and he grabbed a pen and turned to face her.

"What's your name?"

@@@

Genrou didn't know whether to start laughing hysterically, or remain gaping at the photographer. He had made it through! 

"—hold on to this and pass through the other rooms, okay? The other photographers will know what to do."

He could feel his glossed smile beginning to crack a bit. _There's more?_

_My god…_

"What's your name?"

He snapped out of his trance and blinked at the man, while his mind raced frantically. _What's my name? Do I have a name? Um, god help me, my name is…my name is…_

"Tasu. Tasu Leika."

The photographer nodded and scribbled it down on the paper, before walking over and handing it to Genrou. "Now just open that door," he pointed, "And you'll see Houjun."

He took the form and complied numbly.

@@@

Doukun watched as the woman opened the door that adjoined the two small studios, and couldn't help holding his breath at the lovely picture she made, poised in the doorway, framed like a picture, as if on the threshold of something inexplicable. When she passed through the small passageway, the dull click of the door closing behind her, he turned back, but couldn't stop a small grin of bliss that broke out on his face.

_Now that's what I call a pretty woman._

@@@

Houjun barely had the energy left to look up from his sandwich as the door opened. He glanced at his watch, and his shoulders sagged in relief. Fifteen more minutes before the doors would close for the day. 

"Just take a seat there," he called, his voice muffled through the bread and lettuce. "I'll be right with you. Make yourself comfortable."

There had been more applicants this year than last, but he had yet to see anything remarkable. Sure, there was that dark-haired beauty whose name he couldn't recollect at that moment…but, other than that, he thought his shots of Saihitei and Nuriko had been the best. Taka had had been less than his normal energetic self and it showed in the pictures; the male model had probably been out late the night before drinking and making merry. He didn't think he would submit as many photographs for judging, this time.

Polishing off the sandwich, he blew the crumbs off his jeans and pulled himself to his feet, chewing as he turned to face what was hopefully the last applicant of the day.

_Oh._

Oh, wow.

@@@

Genrou was feeling more miserable by the moment. 

From where he stood, he could see the back of the photographer's plain, yellow button-down shirt, contrasted by the single lock of decidedly bluish dark hair that had escaped the confines of the ponytail. He turned around, feeling the cool wind of the air-conditioner brush past his bare shoulders. And got a shock.

The studio had a full-length mirror. His reflection gaped back at him.

He whirled back around, his heart pounding as he fought off the panic that swamped him. 

__

I've got long hair.

I've got lipstick on.

I've got bloody make-up on.

And…and I'm wearing…I'm wearing a dress.

Genrou closed his eyes and swallowed, seeing himself clearly for the first time in his mind's eye. _I look…I look…_

"Well then, shall we get started?"

He opened his eyes. And gulped convulsively.

Standing before him was one of the most gorgeous men he had ever seen. 

The photographer had been seated on the ground earlier, and Genrou hadn't noticed much of him. But now, face to face, his eyes automatically noted the slim, well-built body, the tanned, almost-bronzed skin, and the cinnamon eyes that were taking him in mildly. Genrou fought down the blush that he was aware threatened to burst out in full color. 

The irony of the situation was not lost on him, and as the photographer walked over to the low shelf and bent to pick up the camera, Genrou squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to focus on anything else other than the Adonis. 

__

This is the reason why the gods made me gay…

Fuck the gods. I bet they're all having a field day laughing at me from up there. He agonized silently, and some of it must have shown on his face. 

"Hey."

He opened one eye suspiciously, and forced a tight smile, not trusting himself to speak. 

The photographer chuckled. "Relax. Have fun."

__

Goddamned right. Have fun? Ha!


	6. 4: Toothpaste commericals

Chapter Four

The model was refreshingly stunning, and as Houjun adjusted the lens and tried a different angle of approach, he noted quickly how photogenic she was. He paused, frowning slightly as he surveyed the backdrop, then set the camera down and walked over to the woman. 

@@@

Genrou nearly backed away as the photographer came towards him. His knees felt weak.

"What?" he blurted, his eyes fixed on the hands that were reaching out for him.****Please don't, please don't touch me, he begged silently. The other man's eyebrows rose in surprise. 

"Just let me try something. Stay still, all right?"

Genrou turned to marble as smooth, slightly callused hands rearranged his fringe, pulling down a few strands to the sides of his face. He forgot to breathe when those warm hands dropped to the bare skin of his shoulders, angling him slightly, and then moved to his chin, tilting his face marginally.

"Keep that position for a bit, okay?" the photographer smiled at him and walked back to get the camera.

_He should do toothpaste commercials,_ Genrou thought blindly.

The photographer moved swiftly around him as the camera clicked rapidly. Genrou could sense the passion and ease with which the man handled his profession, and inwardly, he scowled. 

_It looks so easy. If I'd known I sure wouldn't have gotten myself stuck in some silly old waiting job…_

The photographer walked over to the low table, flipped through the forms quickly, then turned back to him with a wink. "Almost done! Just a few more…can you turn a little to the right, please?"

Genrou complied, wincing as one of the straps slid off his shoulders. Hastily, he pulled the offending material back up, looking at the ground so that his hair would cover his red cheeks. 

"You're really beautiful, you know."

His head snapped up, and the camera flashed again, blinding him momentarily.

@@@

Houjun hid a smile as he watched a slight blush color the cheeks of the woman in front of him at his comment. He appreciated loveliness when he saw it, and this woman seemed to exude a unique charisma, one that pulled him to keep looking at her, if only through the lens of his camera.

He finished the last few frames and then walked to the side, sitting down and setting the heavy camera on his lap. Opening the film box, he took out the rolled up black-surfaced canister. Reaching for the entry form, he slipped the film into the plastic bag, and scanned through the data quickly.

_Tasu Leika. _

He would have to look out for her. Perhaps as a model in the future, or something. Shifting his thoughts to the present, he rose, and went over to her, smiling sincerely.

"Through that door, and you'll see Tomo. Good luck!"

@@@

Genrou accepted the bag, hoping that his shaking fingers were not too obvious. He could feel his palms sweating, and his heart was definitely racing.

"Through that door, and you'll see Tomo. Good luck!"

He smiled back weakly. "Thank you." It came out as a near-whisper, and he stumbled towards the direction of the door that the photographer was pointing in. 

_I can't wait for all of this to be over. _

He stepped towards the door and put his hand on the doorknob, resisting the urge to turn around and look at the other man again. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door, entering the next room.

@@@

He stepped into the shower, the dress in a discarded pile on the wet tiles. As the hot water cascaded over his weary limbs, he ran his hands through his thick red hair, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the spray.

_That was the most humiliating thing I've ever done. Even if it's for a good cause._

Like you had many other stellar options, the inner voice in his head reminded. Chastened, he blindly reached out for the soap bar. 

_Okay, then. We shall think of this as a learning experience, no more and no less._ He fumbled as the bar nearly slipped out of his wet hand, but tightened his grip on it and began to soap himself. _The worst is over, and now all I have to do is wait for the money…_

_What if you don't win?_ the other voice sang suddenly.

His eyes snapped open in horror. How come he hadn't thought of that? What if…what if… He swallowed.

_What if it was all for nothing?_

The image of a heart-shaped, smiling face with deep-set cinnamon eyes, framed by silky-looking tendrils of long hair, suddenly appeared in his mind. The blood rushed to his ears and his face grew hot even underneath the cool spray. He cursed under his breath.

_Fine…_

Maybe not 'nothing at all' then.

But he hadn't even gotten the other man's name.

@@@

[A few days later]

It was ten in the morning.

In the cool of the darkroom, the shorter of the two men reached up with the back of his hand to rub his nose, carefully avoiding touching his skin with his chemical-coated glove. The dim red light gave a sense of timelessness, and as they moved around the small place, shoes thudding softly against the cold floor was all the noise in the quiet.

"How do yours look?" Tomo asked softly, his gaze fixated on the print in the dish, his long fingers gently swirling the flat square of negatives. 

Houjun looked up and across the room at his friend, his lips turning up in a lopsided smile. "As I expected. Nothing really special, actually. Only about one or two," his own hands gently spread the brackish water over the film as he spoke, and as the picture appeared, he bent closed.

"I remember this one," he remarked, more to himself than to Tomo. 

The picture was of a fair, dark-haired woman. Her features were straight, elegant and there was an overall classy appeal about her look. He craned his neck and looked at the name card clipped onto the form. Soi Rishana. 

"She _is_ lovely," a warm voice breathed in his ear. Houjun nearly jumped in surprise, but he was more accustomed to Tomo's ways than he would ever admit, so he settled for shrugging instead. The younger man had come up behind him so quietly that, as usual, Houjun hadn't noticed him.

Houjun leaned over, his fingers lightly grasping a peg, before he straightened and pegged the drying film to the line hanging above his workbench. The both of them stood there, silently, looking over that one picture at first, and then at the many that adorned the wall of the darkroom.


	7. 5: Of dark rooms and telephones

Chapter Five

The phone rang unceasingly, echoing about the house, which for its quiet and lack of movement within was almost certainly empty.

Almost, but not quite, for the sleeping form sprawled over the bed with a huge, innocuously yellow pillow squeezed tight over the head, red hair tangled in ringlets spilling from beneath.

_Riiiiiiiiiiing!_

He opened his eyes and tossed the cushion aside with one hand.   
"SHUT UP!" he screamed at the phone. "SILENCE! BE QUIET! GO AWAY!"

He glared through one eye at the fat orange plastic cat that was his telephone, perched lazily on his desk, still emanating a look of heavy content. With a growl, he sat up, pushed the sheets off his body, and stood, stumbling as he pulled his boxers straight. He walked to the desk, eyeing the phone suspiciously as the memory of what he had done the day before suddenly crashed in.

_Oh no…what if it's them calling?_ He stared with a changed expression at the jangling appliance, appalled. 

_What if they're calling…?_ Genrou gulped. 

_What if they're calling to tell me I didn't win?_

He gritted his teeth. 

"What are the chances that I could really have won anyway?" he demanded at the wall. It stared back at him blankly, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. 

With a strangled cry, he leaned down and savagely grabbed Garfield about the neck, waiting a few seconds with his eyes closed tightly, before finally bringing himself to set the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

@@@

Houjun stretched, feeling his entire body creak wearily in protest. He had been up the whole night, developing the negatives, and it was now twelve thirty. He glanced over at Tomo. The quiet young man was still working stealthily away at his own workbench opposite Houjun's.

He flexed his fingers with a slight frown on his face, looking down at the remainder of the rolls of film to be done, before turning away and taking a few steps in Tomo's direction.

"Yes?" the younger man asked, his back still facing Houjun, not bothering to turn around.

"I'm going to go for a coffee break before I come back to finish this," Houjun confessed sheepishly. "Do you want anything from the canteen?"

Tomo stilled and for a moment, Houjun thought that the younger man would shrug him off quietly, as he was prone to do far too often, not out of rudeness, but simply out of sheer habit and lack of interest. 

Then Tomo turned slightly.

"Just let me get this one done. Then I'll go with you."

Silence filled the space between them then, as Houjun nodded and leaned against the wall, his eyes closing against his will. He did tend to get too caught up in his work every now and then, especially when there was a big project like this one, and inevitably, he would lose his sleep. When that happened, he would, also inevitably, end up catching shut-eye just about anywhere he could.

"Hey."

He started in surprise, opening his eyes to see Tomo in front of him. Very closely standing in front of him. So close that he could see the long curling lashes of the younger man against porcelain skin, the deep, brilliant green of his eyes.

It was hypnotizing.

Then Tomo looked away, breaking the spell. Houjun shook himself out of his trance, his cheeks heating up slightly at the knowledge that he had been caught staring. The taller man walked back to the bench and picked up the film that he had been washing.

"Look at this."

@@@

"Genrou?"

The owner of the name in question exploded, almost dropping the phone. "KOUJI?"

There was amused laughter on the other side of the line. "You sound terribly over-excited, kid."

Genrou slumped back against the wall, trying to calm his pounding heart. "No! I mean, no, I'm not."

"Just happy to hear from me then, huh?"

The redhead contemplated hanging up the phone.

"I just called to find out how you were doing, Genrou. My friend told me you painted Ayuru Miyari's Armani with fish sauce."

Genrou exhaled slowly. "God, Kouji, I'm so sorry, I swear it wasn't my fault. That blondie wasn't looking where he was going, and I had this humongous tray in front of me, and then it just happened—"

Kouji chucked softly from the other end. "I'm not calling to scold you or blame you, kid. And don't feel bad about it. It did keep me laughing for a day."

"Very funny."

"I think so too."

"Go to hell, Kouji."

His mentor laughed.

@@@

Houjun walked over, coming up beside Tomo as the younger man twirled the negative absently. Almost as if it were an afterthought, Tomo handed the film to Houjun. 

"Remember her?"

Houjun took the negative and held it up to the dull light.

His eyes moved from the smooth curve of shoulder to long, graceful neck, and then up to the face. Even from the bare print, he could see that the light and shade on the photograph was superb, in the shadows of the hair, the tilt of the chin, and the expressive, almond-shaped eyes that looked out from beneath stray bangs.

A sudden sense of déjà vu washed over him. 

_I feel like I've seen all this before…not in the studio…but somewhere else…_

He brushed the odd emotions aside when he realized that Tomo was still waiting for an answer, and nodded in apology for his distraction.

"Yes, I do. I kept wondering if she was already a model, though."

A small smile spread over Tomo's face as Houjun handed the negative back to him. There was an expression on his face that the older man recalled seeing only when his friend had done something he was happy with, and in his heart, he felt glad for Tomo.

"Let's go get that coffee."


	8. 6: Reality bites

Chapter Six

[A week later]

With a loud sigh, the manager of the agency entered his office and dumped his bag carelessly on the ground, nudging the door close with his foot before trudging to his desk. A tray of envelopes and letters, spilling with long-winded contracts and documents, made Myou Jyuan wish, at that very moment, for a cup of scalding hot black coffee. With three cubes of sugar.

He flipped through the mail, scanning through the ones that looked important, and throwing the ones that didn't back into the tray for tomorrow. "Advertisements, billboards, magazines," he mumbled, thumbing through the stack when his eye suddenly fell on a plain brown envelope. On it was scrawled, in his chief photographer's slightly loopy handwriting, 'Chinoarov Competition Results'. He looked at the large brown envelope, back to the stack of papers, and then made a snap decision, shoving the remainder of unsorted mail into the drawer and reaching for the former instead. 

@@@

The cold shock as water suddenly dribbled down his neck and into his shirt was sufficient to make Genrou open his eyes in a murderous rage.

"Wake up, pig!" Miaka sang above him, completely oblivious to her brother's fury. "Mom wants to go to the grocery store and she wants you to go with her to carry the bags! Oh and also—ack!"

Genrou wrapped his fingers tighter around his sister's neck, shaking her wildly as she began to turn blue. "I TOLD YA ALREADY, STOP THAT CRAP WITH THE WATER!" he screamed, jerking her violently as she batted at him, her expression torn between that of laughter and panic. 

"Genrou, dear?"

He let go of Miaka instantly, propping her against the wall and jumping to the bed, rearranging himself in as harmless a position as was possible, hugging his yellow pillow as the door opened and his mother peered in. He smiled at her. "Morning, mom."

She smiled back. "Genrou, honey, I want to go to the store. Can you be ready in ten minutes?"

He waved nervously, his eyes darting to Miaka still gasping for breath behind the door, and leapt to his feet. "Of course! No problem! I can be ready in five!" He moved to the door, holding it just close and grinning tightly at his mother.

"I'll see you downstairs then."

Genrou nodded.

His mother turned to leave, then stopped and looked around inquisitively. "Oh. Didn't your sister come up to call you?"

He shook his head wildly and laughed; sounding suspiciously strangled even to his ears. "No! No, I haven't seen her! She's probably in her room messing with her stuff as usual." 

His mother raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "Well, something arrived in the mail for you today, dear. Miaka has it, so just get it from her later, okay?"

@@@

He walked around the large desk and planted himself in the soft, high-backed chair with an exhalation, still holding the envelope in one hand. With a silent prayer, he opened the flap, and shook the photographs out onto the tabletop. 

The first photo that caught his attention was of one of the agency's own models, Nuriko. The backdrop was a cloudy shade of sky-blue, and the object of advertisement was a brand of drink. Houjun had captured the model's tall, willow-like profile superbly on his lens, but the picture had only obtained a third placing in the Photographic Section.

He made a reminder to himself to put the photograph of Nuriko into the violet-haired man's portfolio, and then continued looking through the pictures, when he saw the brightly-labeled photograph from deep within the stack with the words 'First Prize for Cover Girl Section' scribbled on it. He pulled it out, and blinked.

@@@

"GIVE IT TO ME!" Genrou made a wild swipe at the brown envelope that was nestled in the vine-like arms of his sister. 

Miaka shook her head and stuck out her tongue at him. "Forget it, Genrou. You shouldn't have hit me earlier. And when I tell Mom—"

"You started it!" he growled, making another attempt to retrieve the envelope. She made a face at him and turned her back, waving the mail tantalizing in the air in front of her. "Hmm? Let's see…who would send my insane brother anything?" She peered at the name.

"What's this…some sort of posting…hey! Tasu? Isn't that the nickname you hated when we were younger?"

Panic flooded him. _It's the results of the competition! Oh shit…I wrote my address on the form…_

Miaka shrugged. "Well! Let's open it and see what's inside!"

Pure terror lent him supernatural reflexes as he lunged for the envelope, ripping it from his sister's hand as she squeaked in indignation. Before she could say another word, he had grabbed her arm and opened the door, shoving her outside and slamming the door shut, locking it.

Ignoring her squeals of outrage, he leant back against the door, his heart pounding as he stared at the envelope in his hand.

@@@

The model had been captured against a soft, pastel turquoise background, and was turned half-away from the camera with the face looking full into the center. And it was the face that captured Myou Jyuan. 

Smooth, with high cheekbones and straight, charmingly asymmetrical features, half-lidded eyes that were outlined with smoky mascara, immediately expressed both sensuality and definition. Lips painted a light pale pink were slightly parted in a small smile, and there was a stubborn, almost masculine tilt to the lines of the jaw and face itself. A smooth curtain of rich, deep-rose colored hair framed and fell lightly to the sides of the face. Clothed in a simple black dress, with only a silver choker around a slender neck, the model practically radiated with inner light.

Below the photograph, in a small, neat print that marked the official tag of the competition entry was the name Tasu Leika.

@@@

__

Miss Tasu Leika,

We are pleased to inform you of the results of the Chinoarov Cover Girl section, in which you have been placed FIRST. The prize money of $5000 can be collected at our studios, as well as a free customized portfolio. It is recommended that you come within a week, or the second-runner up will be notified to take your place.

Yours truly,

The Management

Capri Studios

He stared at the paper in shock.

"I won," he whispered, disbelief raging in every fiber of his being as the news sank in. _I won._

A slow grin spread on his face.

_I. Won. Five. Thousand. Dollars._

He whooped, flinging the envelope to his bed and flying after it, smashing into the pillows and laughing uncontrollably.


	9. 7: Tragic mornings

Chapter Seven

Houjun entered the studio, juggling the stack of files in his arms as he nudged the door close with his foot.

"Myou Jyuan?" he called, staggering into the main office and setting the files down on his desk. "Myou Jyuan?"

"In here, Houjun!" 

He dusted his hands off and entered the office just as the phone rang. Myou Jyuan made a frustrated sound and gestured for him to sit as he reached for the phone."Hello?"

As his boss rattled on, Houjun noticed that the pictures scattered on the desk were that of the latest competition. Leaning forward, he grabbed the top picture and studied it, unable to help the smile that spread on his face. He traced the face in the picture with one finger thoughtfully.

This woman…she fascinated him. 

He admired the raw appeal that spilled from her tousled hair, and her seemingly peering, deep-set, brilliantly flecked eyes. 

__

Tasu Leika. You are so beautiful.

The phone was slammed down with a bang, and Houjun jumped up from his chair, interrupted from his mild reverie. 

"Who was that?"

Myou Jyuan shrugged and waved his hand. "G Magazine. They want us to supply five pages of your work, because they're featuring outstanding photographers next month." He smiled at his chief photographer. 

Houjun sat stunned. "Really?"

Myou Jyuan grinned and rose, shuffling the pictures on the desk into a random semblance of order. 

"You got any model in mind?"

__

Do I…?

He looked down at the picture in his hand.

@@@

Genrou could feel the itch that the lace on the dress was causing on the back of his neck. The sound of a group of girls giggling behind him made him spin, but they were only talking among themselves as they walked away. 

_I can't believe I'm wearing a dress AGAIN._

Mournfully, he pulled the sweater tighter around him and flinched when he felt the padding he had clumsily stuffed there. He glanced around to make sure there was nobody he knew in sight, before tottering down the corridor. His other hand, in the handbag he had ripped off his mother's rack, fingered the envelope nervously.

_I can pull this off. I've done it before. I can easily do it again. I—_

He froze as he felt a hand clap on his shoulder. 

@@@

Miaka frowned as she entered the shopping center, looking this way and that trying to catch a glimpse of her brother. Genrou had seemed very disturbed and different these days; she was determined to find out what it was he had been up to, hence the shadowing of her beloved twin that day.

"Where can he be?" she muttered, tapping her foot impatiently, ignoring the curious glance of a passer-by. "I'm sure I followed him right here…"

She threw up her hands in frustration and continued walking.

@@@

"Hello," the deep, resonant voice greeted.

Genrou turned slowly, gulping back the deceit that his voice threatened to give away. And then his knees buckled in relief.

"It's only you!" he cried happily, before he remembered himself with horror and looked away hastily. 

Doukun beamed at him. "You remember me?"

Hysterical laughter was bubbling up inside of his throat, and Genrou forced it away, pasting as innocent a smile as was possible on his face and nodding in reply.

"Well, what are you doing here?" Doukun asked casually.

Genrou blinked. He could feel the sweater falling open as his hands gripped the sides of the dress, and flushed, abruptly crossing his arms over his chest. "I came to…uh…came to…" _What did I come here for?_ He grinned weakly at the photographer as he fumbled in the bag for the envelope. "To collect the prize money!"

"Ah," Doukun nodded knowingly, smiling at him. "I heard Houjun's shot of you took first place. Congratulations!"

"Oh, that! Uh, yes! Well, thanks." He could feel Doukun's eyes running over his body, from his feet, up his legs, to his chest, and back to his face. Heat spilled into his cheeks.

"Well, I'm actually headed to the studio now, myself. To collect the prints for the local paper…this month's edition."

"Oh."

Doukun cocked his head, and suddenly looked at him directly. "Tasu…I hope you don't mind me calling you that…but you do realize that you've got a marvelous opportunity now, right?"

_I do? _

_Smile and nod,_ his brain advised.

Genrou smiled and nodded.

"Especially with your free portfolio. Houjun will be arranging it for you, seeing as how his was the picture that got you placed anyway. And Houjun does quality work; his photographs are published everywhere. Besides…"

His throat suddenly felt too dry as images of a tall, dark-haired, cinnamon-eyed man flashed into his brain. _That's his name. I remember it. Houjun._

He realized belatedly that the other man was waiting expectantly for a response. "Besides?"

Doukun laughed, and moved closer. Genrou swallowed and automatically tugged the bag over so that it blocked any attempts at increased proximity. Doukun continued. 

"You know…when I first saw you walk in the door, what I thought?"

_Please…please…please don't tell me he's FLIRTING with me…_

"What?" he managed, forcing a weak laugh.

"I thought to myself, 'That is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen'," Doukun said huskily.

Genrou's face flamed. Doukun watched him, noting with amusement how her eyes had darkened and were looking frantically away, and how the blush rose so easily to her skin. He exhaled, and reached up to tilt Genrou's chin back to him.

"With that said…would you like to go out sometime?"

A small cough sounded behind the photographer.


	10. 8: Prices of beauty

Chapter Eight

As another phone call reverberated through the office, Houjun laughed at Myou Jyuan's disgruntled face and excused himself. Still unconsciously clasping the photograph in his hand, he pushed open the doors of the studio and stretched.

_Do I have anyone in mind?_

He frowned slightly, twirling the photograph between his fingers, biting his lip slightly. _There's always Nuriko…or Saihitei. They're well known enough that they would be recognized. _

Houjun was shrewd and smart enough to know that his skill as a photographer would be sufficient to jumpstart new careers, or give life to fading ones. This time, the assignment was nothing short of spectacular; the magazine was one of the most popular and widely circulated. It would also boost his reputation, and reassert him as one of the nation's best photographers.

He sighed and looked around, before idly beginning to walk, with small steps. He walked and walked, lost in his own private world, as he was only too prone to do whenever he was deep in thought. Until he heard an all-too familiar voice. 

"I thought to myself, 'That is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen'."

Houjun glanced up. And blinked. 

_Doukun?_

He knew that Myou Jyuan's son was quite the Casanova with the opposite gender. Feeling a chuckle begin to rise to his lips, he craned his neck and tried to get a look at the younger man's new conquest.

She had shoulder-length hair the color of rubies that glinted with golden highlights in the fluorescent lights, and creamy, peach toned skin. He could see the telltale blush on her cheeks, but Doukun's body blocked everything else.

_Wait a moment. _

Red hair?

"With that said…would you like to go out sometime?"

_How many women are there around with hair like that?_

The photograph slipped to the floor, and he bent hastily to retrieve it. The glowing face stared back at him. 

A dainty cough behind him alerted him to the fact that someone else was standing behind him, and he whirled around, losing his balance as he tried to rise and turn at the same time. Strong hands reached out to grab his wrists, and steady him. From his back, he heard a small gasp, and Doukun's exclamation of surprise.

@@@

At the sound, Doukun spun around, and Genrou took the opportunity to spring away and put about five feet of distance in between himself and the other man. His cheeks were still burning furiously, and he was about to kick himself when he noticed just who was standing there.

Facing him, thin lips slightly turned up in a smile, was a tall man, taller than even himself. Long black hair was swept back and tied in a myriad of braids, framing a pale face. Even from where he stood, Genrou could see the deep green eyes, fathomless and bottomless, like the depths of an ocean.

And he was holding someone who Genrou clearly recognized.

The blue hair, the slim physique, the tanned skin, and the outline of delicate features that he could just make out from his angle. 

_It's him. _

It's Houjun.

@@@

The stormy gaze fixed Houjun in place until he realized with disturbing clarity that Tomo was still holding his wrists. With a weak smile, he attempted to pull away, and at the slight pressure, Tomo let go.

"Are you all right?" 

Houjun cleared his throat self-consciously and nodded. At that, Tomo stepped past and walked forward, seemingly intentionally oblivious of the other two people looking at him from the side.

Doukun let out a whistle. 

"That guy always creeps me out, Houjun. I don't understand how you can work with him. And what are you doing here anyway?"

At the reminder that he had been, accidentally or not, eavesdropping, Houjun grinned nervously, before he remembered that he did have a real reason for being there. "I came to drop some files off at the office, and I was taking a walk when I saw you and—"

His voice trailed off as his eyes traveled to the woman who was standing a way apart from Doukun now. 

"—Tasu Leika?"

@@@

Genrou blinked. And blinked again. Wished ardently that he were anywhere in the world but here, at this moment. 

"Hey," a warm smile lit Houjun's face. "What are you doing here?"

_Where is my voice?_ Genrou struggled to come up with a reply, but to his horror, found himself beginning to giggle inanely.

"Tasu was here for her portfolio shot," Doukun interrupted, walking towards Genrou and beaming at Houjun. "I just caught her on her way into the studio." He slid an arm casually about Genrou's shoulders.

Shock therapy. He needed ice cream. Genrou had never felt so torn between being exhilaratingly amused, immeasurably horrified and goddamned nervous all at once. His eyes darted from Doukun's hand on his right shoulder, to Houjun's smiling face, to the sudden all-too-familiar figure that appeared on the horizon of his peripheral vision.

_MIAKA?!_

@@@

Miaka turned left and right, trying to scan for her brother through the throngs of people milling about. Finally, she spotted the escalator, and headed for it determinedly. If she couldn't spot Genrou through the crowd, perhaps she's have better luck from a bird's eye view on the second floor.

"Where is that idiot?" she muttered, looking intently down as she stepped onto the escalator, gripping the side support gingerly. As she approached the second floor, she moved forward, craning her neck to look past the back of a slim man with a dark blue ponytail as her gaze fell upon a mop of wavy red hair.


	11. 9: Just another day

Chapter Nine

_No way…this isn't really happening. Stay calm. Stay cool._

Panic exploded a second later.

He whirled, brushing off Doukun's arm as the latter stepped back in surprise, turning to run and completely missing the stout old woman tapping her stick as she stared up at him in terror in the frozen moments before he collided head-on with her. Spilling the contents of his bag and staggering sideways as his legs got entangled in the dress, he barely noticed as a figure appeared beside him, catching him as he fell to the ground. 

It took him another moment to realize that the warm body beneath him that had cushioned the impact of his fall belonged to none other than Houjun.

@@@

"Genrou!" she shouted as she tried to make her way past the crowd. The figure spun around wildly and banged into something else, thrown wildly backwards and sideways and onto the man who had obstructed her view earlier. "Genrou?" Miaka hollered. "Is that you?"

With difficulty, she broke free of the group of small children who had been in her way, and started towards the direction of her brother.

@@@ 

"Genrou? Is that you?"

__

No shit!

Without thinking, he tried to rise, when the fact that he was straddling the photographer of his dreams, combined with the fiery blush that streaked up his cheeks, alerted him to the warning sirens wailing in his head. From behind, someone bumped roughly into him, jolting him hard. 

Houjun's arms suddenly encircled him, pulling him into an embrace that smelt faintly of warm cinnamon and fresh chocolate, tucking his head into the curve of his shoulder and protecting him bodily from the people who thronged about them. Vaguely, Genrou noticed that they had both sat up, and that his proximity to Houjun was an alarming one.

"Are you okay?" Houjun asked, concern and worry in his voice as he parted slightly from Genrou. 

"Geeeeeenrooooooou, if that's you, I swear, I'm going to kill you for making me follow you all the way out here!"

__

Escape; escape, his mind gabbled wildly. Glancing around frantically and realizing that he had only precious seconds left, Genrou did the only thing he could think of doing. 

He pulled Houjun to him and curved his hands around the muscled shoulders and slim back, darting forward and pressing his lips to the photographer's.

@@@

Miaka pushed past the last of the stack of bodies and came to a halt, breathless, onto the scene, and looked quickly about for the trademark red hair. Her gaze roved over the people, until she saw the couple on the floor, pressed to the side of the wall, faces partially covered by the curtain of crimson strands, kissing and wrapped around each other. A blush colored her cheeks as she squinted at them, trying to puzzle out what she was seeing. The figure whose back was turned to her was obviously a man's, and she heaved a sigh of disappointment and shifted back around. She really thought she had seen Genrou, but the woman on the floor obviously had nothing in common with her twin brother, bared legs, dress, boyfriend and all.

"The lack of food must be getting to me," she muttered, twisting past a young man with glossy, mahogany, chin-length hair that was held back with a neon yellow headband.

@@@

She felt delicate, slim and fragile in his arms, her weight pressed against his body as her lips, tasting soft and wholly sweet, touched a slight pressure to his lips. Her hands, long and elegant, felt warm on his back through his shirt, and her hair, silky and scarlet, obscured all but her fiery amber eyes, so close he could see the flecks in them. Lost in wonderment, rapture, and a sudden, inexplicable feeling of déjà vu, Houjun felt himself respond, leaning forward and sliding his hands gently around the slim waist.

"Whoa!" the familiar male voice carried enough shock and amusement for Houjun to snap out of his trance, and he gasped and pushed Tasu unintentionally, roughly away, shaking his fringe, that had come loose, out of his eyes and glancing up. 

Doukun's raised eyebrows and Saihitei's knowing grin greeted him, and he gulped, propping himself up and willing the hotness in his cheeks to subside. Unthinkingly, he looked back at the model, and caught the look in those enrapturing eyes; a mixture of amazement, of shock, and then something else that was almost akin to hurt and guilt, and apology immediately sprung to his lips.

"I'm so sorry."

She looked at him steadily, before turning away, shaking her head as her hair fell slightly over her face. "It was an accident. My fault. I should be the one saying sorry." 

Her voice was husky, low and held the hint of a tremor. Houjun mentally slapped himself for imagining things when she rose gingerly on her heels and bent down, picking up her bag and slinging it onto her shoulder, holding it almost protectively in front of her. Getting to his feet, he found himself at a loss as to what to say. 

"Uh—" he began.

"Hey! You're the winner of Chinoarov Cover Girl!" Saihitei's cheerful voice interposed. Houjun didn't know whether to be more grateful for the timely interjection, or annoyed that Saihitei had stopped him from whatever he had been about to say.

__

But what was I going to say? There's nothing to say.

"Pleased to meet you." Saihitei had moved forward, proffering his hand enthusiastically. "Oh I know! You're here for your photo-shoot, aren't you? Your free portfolio? Houjun here does great work; believe me, I should know, but then again, it doesn't take much to make me look good does it?"

Doukun smacked the male model on the head, ignoring the loud protests, pushing Saihitei aside and smiling slightly at Tasu. "Don't mind him. He's just an egotistical idiot."

"I—I've got to get back early," the redheaded woman murmured, looking down at the ground. "So if you'll all excuse me—"


	12. 10: Accidental

Chapter Ten

"Yes, yes, of course, I've been delaying you too long haven't I?" Doukun shrugged helplessly, flashing another smile at her. "Don't worry. Houjun works fast, and since you've come all the way here, I'll just show you to the studio right now!"

Perhaps it was the way Houjun looked, half turned away, a slight flush still visible on his neck and cheeks. Maybe it was because he had fallen too hard earlier, or hit his head or something like that. Not that it mattered very much, because all Genrou could do was nod and follow the tall brunette as Doukun beckoned him on.

@@@

Houjun looked at the reflection in the mirror from the corner of his eye as he prepared his camera. And nearly screwed the superior flash onto his left hand instead.

He had known she was beautiful even with minimal make-up; the winning entry had been proof enough. Now, done up for a professional photo shoot, she looked a completely different person, and yet remained wholly the same.

Rich bronze skin had been toned and powdered, lightened slightly to a smooth honey shade. Dark red hair, straightened and pulled, shot through with wine and golden highlights, reached longer than he would have expected, down to around two inches past the shoulders. Tilting hazel-brown, gold-flecked eyes were traced and lined with a spectrum of colors that flashed from a luscious, deep green to a brilliant turquoise crystal. Her nose was powdered and artfully drawn to appear distinct on film, and her lips were outlined with a matted, syrupy red color that somehow reminded Houjun of rubies and roses.

She sat with her head bowed, her hands still clutching her bag tightly about her chest, her stillness only speaking louder for how uncomfortable she seemed. 

@@@

With the photographer moving around on the edge of his peripheral vision, Genrou shifted, turning and craning his neck slightly.

"Hey, don't move."

Tomo's voice was deep and sudden, breaking the silence as the make-up artist continued powdering the exposed skin on his neck and shoulders as though nothing had happened. Cringing inwardly with embarrassment, Genrou muttered an apology and returned to his position, looking up only to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

__

Hey.

Wow.

He coughed slightly, turning away, but his heart was racing, and he could feel the tips of his ears beginning to burn again.

_Damn it, I've got to stop blushing this easily._

Hell, he looked good. But that wasn't what was making his heartbeat pound dizzily in his ears now. No, definitely not. Not that it had anything to do with meeting the cinnamon eyes of the photographer across the room in the mirror either.

@@@

"Tasu?"

The shoot was over. Genrou glanced surreptitiously at the clock on the wall of the far end of the studio, and noted that it had _really_ been fast. Only an hour had gone by, and about six to ten rolls of film sat in their small boxes on the short table that flanked the door. Not that it had seemed that way.

_God, this is insane! How can I let a man I've only met twice affect me like that? So what if he seems to be looking at me? He's a goddamned photographer…his job is to look at people!_

"Tasu?" The voice repeated itself, a little louder this time.

_Notwithstanding that my stomach seems to be on a freaking roller-coaster every single time his hair flops into his face, or he smiles, and how incredible his body—_

"Hey, Tasu."

He yelped and whirled, meeting Houjun's amused eyes, trying to conceal with a bland expression the fact that he had, in truth, fantasizing about the very being who stood in front of him now. "Yes?"

Houjun gave a quick grin. "I hope this isn't too soon for you, but I wonder if I could get your permission to host your portfolio in a magazine. I have a project space to fill, and I think those shots I took earlier will turn out to be pretty awesome. When I develop the film, and if they look as good as I think they will be, then I'll send them over to G. With your consent, of course."

Genrou's mind was, safe to say, wiped completely blank at the sight of the older man's curved lips. It took another ten seconds for the words to penetrate completely.

"G Magazine?" _God, that's one big, national media for my face to be plastered onto…I can't do it…no way…_

"I'd really like the chance to showcase this—" Houjun was talking quietly, but his dark brown eyes sparkled iridescently as he glanced at Genrou, "—this phase of my work."

"I'd like to showcase _you_, Tasu Leika. May I?"


	13. 11: On with the charade!

Chapter Eleven

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining and, as cliché as it seemed, the birds were singing in the trees. It was the morning when the door slammed open, and Genrou opened his eyes to see Miaka, slit-eyed and glaring, staring from something she held in her hand, to her twin brother's face, back to the cover of the magazine. Then, cursing and mumbling under her breath about lack of sleep or whatsoever, she whirled and left.

That same morning, Genrou got up before noon for the first time since he dropped out of school. He dragged himself into the shower, washed up, then dressed in his old black slacks and pulled on a rust-colored sweater. The day seemed inconceivably strange as he stepped out of the house, Miaka refusing to look at him as she muttered and stabbed incoherently at her magazine.

Walking to the bus stop, Genrou fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. At the back of his mind, he wondered privately what he was doing, getting up so early, and where he actually planned to go. Only when bus number 62 pulled up at the stop, and he looked up, did he see the terrible, laughable irony of unusual Saturday mornings.

Because, there, poised and sultry in an obsidian halter-top dress, plastered neatly and smoothly to the bus's exterior décor, was a picture.

Of him. 

It occurred too late, to Genrou, that he was famous. Famous, in a bad, unrecognizable way. But still famous nevertheless.

He boarded the bus, just as the cell phone jumped to life in his pocket, ringing shrilly, causing an old man seated up front to look at him with an expression of annoyance and suspicion on his wrinkled face.

"Hello?" Genrou croaked into the phone, belatedly realizing that his morning voice had not been practiced for a notable period of time. The bus jerked to a stop at the traffic light, and he clawed for the bar just in time to prevent himself from flying towards the windscreen.

"Good morning! Is this Miss Tasu Leika?"

His eyes flew wide open, and he only just managed to stop his jaw from hitting the ground. "Yes," he answered slowly, his brain racing to figure out who the woman on the other end was, as well as what anyone would want with his distinct female personality early Saturday morning.

"I'm so glad I caught you!" the voice gushed. "My name is Yui, and I work for Shantez International. I understand you're the model featured in this month's special edition of photography focus in G?"

He made an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat.

"Well, of course you are! Silly question, I beg your pardon. But the reason I called was to tell you that you are on the list of those specially selected to be auditioned for this year's National Photographic Modeling competition."

@@@

He toyed with the plastic buttons of his mobile, and then determinedly tossed it to the side, burying it under a pile of blankets.

Houjun Ri made it a personal rule never to cross his professional life with his personal one. It kept things simple. Neat. Easy.

One thing was threatening to break every rule he set for himself, and it came in the form of red hair, bronze legs, amber eyes and a smile that was by now probably gracing billboards, advertisements and magazines.

"Maybe I'll just call her and ask her out for a drink, see how she's coping," he muttered to himself, brushing a lock of his hair out of his eyes as he propped himself up against the wall. 

_Way to go. That was convincing._

Frustrated at the sudden indecision that seemed to be plaguing his peace, he spontaneously dug the phone out from under its camouflage and dialed.

@@@

Genrou blinked stupidly at the phone in his hand, then sighed inwardly and made a decision.

"I don't think I can accept that privilege, Miss Yui."

__

I'm tired of this, damn it.

A gasp rang shrilly from the other end of the line. "You can't? Why not?!"

"I—I need a rest, actually—I—"

"But you can do that after this competition! You're a new face on the modeling scene, and if I do say so myself, you do have something that the other girls don't seem to have…"

__

Yea, he thought bitterly, as an image of Houjun flashed into his mind. _I have a Y chromosome._

"No, I really don't think so," he started again, but she cut him off.

"I'll see you in person, Leika-chan. I simply must convince you! This is not an opportunity to be passed up! When will you be free?"

Genrou contemplated disconnecting the line.

"Perhaps this afternoon? I'll be meeting one of my friends for lunch, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined us."

__

Tag along and play gooseberry on a date with people like you who can't keep their mouths shut for more than five seconds?

"No, thank you." He hoped it didn't sound like the flatly clipped, outright rejection it was.

"Just meet me. I'm sure I can show you the benefits of joining this competition! Houjun would tell you the same, I'm sure—"

"Houjun?" The name slipped out. Genrou cursed himself.

"Oh yes, you would be familiar with him, wouldn't you? He's all over the place, that one, taking pictures."

__

All over the place? What does she mean by that? Genrou suddenly felt strangely jealous, and sickened, at the thought that Houjun was the sort who went around sleeping with his models. _No. I will –not– let my imagination run wild like that! Houjun's not the sort! _

But god knows I understand why any sane woman would throw herself into his arms, he added silently to himself.

"This afternoon?" Yui persisted.

"Fine."

There was an incoming call beeping in the background.


	14. 12: Living with fame

Chapter Twelve

As he listened to the phone ringing, Houjun heard a honk from outside. Rising, he slipped out from between the sheets and walked to the full glass window. And promptly dropped the phone in surprise.

"Shit!" he bent down and picked it up, but the phone had already flipped shut, cutting off the line. Disappointed, he slipped the phone into his pocket just as another honk sounded. He straightened, blinking to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Tomo stood outside, lounging casually against the gleaming dark red motorcycle, his helmet under his arm, his long black hair tossed this way and that in the breeze. Houjun was, the least to say, amazed. Tomo had never come by before. Houjun had begun to get used to thinking of the younger man as simply the persona and friend he only saw in the darkroom. 

So he stood there, dumbly looking down at Tomo, subconsciously noting the play of sunlight on ebony locks, on skin that was as white and flawless as china, on the half-smile that lurked at the corners of full red lips.

_Stop staring, idiot._

He pulled himself together, waving and gesturing for Tomo to come up, glancing at the clock as he did so. Ten thirty. He had time enough anyway, before his lunch appointment with Yui at one.

@@@

Alighting from the bus, the sun beat down on his head relentlessly, and Genrou scowled, feeling the perspiration beginning to bead on his brow. 

"Where am I anyway?" he muttered, looking around. It seemed like a fairly quaint, quiet neighborhood, but it looked downright alien in landscape and landmark. He berated himself for taking Bus Number 62 when he had had no idea where it was going. 

Now how in the world was he going to get back?

@@@

Houjun fiddled with the latch a moment, before he opened the door and stepped aside. Tomo inclined his head slightly, and then brushed past him in an intoxicating scent of wine and, incongruously enough, roses.

_Back up a moment, Houjun. You did –not– just think about how good Tomo smells._

"What brings you here?" he asked instead, shaking his head quickly to clear his thoughts. "This is a rare occasion."

Tomo paused and turned his head. A small smile curved his lips.

It was breathtaking.

_No! What's going on? _

It's like I've got a spell cast on me.

"I just wanted to drop by and…well…talk."

"You want to talk?" Houjun's shock was evident, and he blushed almost immediately, kicking himself for the uncharacteristic outburst. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"It's okay," Tomo smiled again, ambling forward and setting his helmet down on the low black table. The younger man slipped easily onto the couch, sitting up as he rested his loosely clasped hands on his knees. He looked up directly at his mentor.

"I've been offered another job, Houjun. I'm going to America."

@@@

Genrou whistled under his breath as he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying his best to ignore the scorching sun and just about succeeding. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Fifteen minutes to eleven.

He reminded himself that he liked to see new places.

_But you're kind of lost right now,_ the voice in his head chimed.

_In more ways than one, huh?_

Genrou growled. For some strange reason, he was still feeling depressed, angry, confused and just about as sulky as any man could get. It couldn't be the hour; he was pretty sure he was awake by now. And he was mostly certain it had nothing to do with the sun, annoying as the yellow rays were.

With a despondent sigh, he finally gave up his aimless walking, slumping down onto the pavement under the shade of a neatly pruned tree.

_Let's figure this out. How did I get myself into this mess?_

"I wanted money," he muttered to himself, ticking off his fingers. That was one.

_Then suddenly, everyone else wants me. I get greedy. I agree and go along with it for the money._

Oh…only for the money? There was that pesky voice again. He scowled.

"This is so screwed up," he grumbled to himself, burying his face in his hands. Another image of Houjun flashed in his memory. The photographer had been dressed in the yellow shirt he remembered from the first time he had seen him, his hair tied up in a ponytail at the base of his neck, a few strands escaping from the day's work, smiling, slanted mahogany eyes…. 

And who was the one who had said that yellow was the color for sexual warmth and country love and all that crap?

_I have got it –so– bad._

He flopped back onto his back, shading his eyes with one hand, his attention suddenly caught by movements at the window of the house to his right. His eyes widened.

_Hey…that looks like…_

@@@

"Another job?" Houjun parroted foolishly.

As he stared at the younger man, focussed only on that lovely face on which the traces of a sad, sad smile lurked, a rush of feelings flooded him, so mixed up that he couldn't begin to decipher them. It was only bewilderment. Shock. It was understandable.

But he was hardly prepared for hurt.

"Yea. They called me, asked me to go over to the new company they're setting up there. Diamante Photographs headed by one Amiboshi—well he goes by Alain now, actually—and his brother. They were my middle school best friends, so…well…"

"Well." Houjun echoed.

Tomo rose from the couch, so that the older man was suddenly very much aware of the difference in height between them. Warm arms slipped around Houjun and unthinkingly, he leaned forward, his own hands coming up to rest comfortably on the small of Tomo's back.

"I'm sorry, Houjun."

His heart twisted slightly. Because somehow, Houjun knew that it wasn't just leaving that Tomo was sorry about. 

Had he been aware of the amber gaze that was fixed on him from outside, he might have reacted differently when Tomo reached out and tilted his chin up. Had he only stopped to think clearly, and not succumbed to blind emotion that was built-up of years past, he might not have responded the way he did.

As it was, Tomo's lips felt so soft.


	15. 13: Lost

Chapter Thirteen

_Oh my god._

As his jaw fell open in surprise, Genrou froze on the spot, praying and disbelieving what his eyes were telling him.

_It can't be true…it can't be true._

But it was, after all. There, nearly literally in front of him, was the man he had been dreaming, agonizing and hoping about since he had met him. Only, that same man was in the arms of another person.

Unable to look anymore, he tore his gaze from the window, settling instead on a gleaming red and black motorcycle parked outside the front door of the house. He took one step back. And then took another. He wanted so badly to raise his eyes and look again. Maybe, by some trick of the light, he had seen wrongly. Just maybe!

His mind, however, knew what his heart was screaming holy hell against believing. How could he compare to Tomo? Tomo was beautiful—gods, he would admit that no matter how much it hurt—and Tomo was Houjun's friend, Houjun's partner. What was he? Just a model, a face for the camera and a mask for money, that was him. There was no truth in his presence in Houjun's life, no place for him in the gorgeous, quiet photographer's heart.

_Tasu Leika,_ he thought bitterly, dashing back the hot trails at the corners of his eyes that threatened to burst from his control. _That's all he knows about me._

It was small comfort to realize that had Tomo not been present, maybe he would have stood a chance. As it was, the situation had evolved to something that remarkably resembled a laughable tragedy, because Houjun Ri didn't care for women after all, and Genrou, to him, was just that.

@@@

He could feel Tomo's arms tight around him, encompassing him in a warm, secure embrace, long fingers playing against his hip as he was drawn in closer. And a flash of reality, so deep that it cut through him like a knife, blazed in his mind. 

Because he knew the truth, that this would be all they would have, to remember and to share each other by. 

__

It won't be enough. I don't want it to end like this.

The younger man deepened the kiss, slanting his head slightly and running his tongue along Houjun's own flushed lips. 

__

I don't want it to start like this, either.

Gently, he lifted his hands, pressing them lightly to the broad chest of the taller man. Tomo blinked in surprise, and Houjun took the opportunity to push Tomo back slightly so that the back of the other man's calves hit the couch.

"No," he said simply, looking up at Tomo, memorizing the rise and fall of the younger man's breathing, willing the image of this man who had been his partner, porcelain cheeks stained a pale crimson, deep, emerald-green eyes wide open, the long black lashes fluttering, to stay in his mind. 

__

We never dared to take that step in the first place. It's too late now.

"Tomo," he managed, stumbling slightly as he knelt, shaking his head, his eyes burning, "We…I…you're going to be leaving."

__

You didn't choose to stay, was the silent completion of his sentence, left hanging in the air.

And Tomo understood. 

Warm hands moved up slowly, tentatively, to rest on Houjun's own. Curling against his palms, drawing aimless patterns lightly on skin, but going no further. For a few moments, then, there was silence between them.

"Then I guess…well…this is goodbye, Houjun." A soft, sad smile, one that rarely appeared, now seemed even more precious, but in a different sort of way. That smile would always be his to keep, but that was all it would be from now: a memory.

Less than five minutes later, Houjun pulled the curtains back, his eyes following the slender figure. Tomo didn't turn back, didn't look up. Perhaps it was for the best.

Houjun turned, moving away from the window as the sounds of the motorcycle faded into the distance, glancing at the clock as he walked to the kitchen. It was eleven-thirty. It would take him an hour to get to town, fifteen minutes to have a bath, ten minutes to walk to the bus stop…he wouldn't have time for breakfast, since he had woken up so late.

Changing his course, he headed for his room and walked to the closet, grabbing a fluffy blue towel and some clothes. He tried his best to ignore the pang in his heart, but the memory of words, spoken in a distinctively husky voice, refused to leave his mind. He pushed it away roughly as he moved into the shower, reaching out to twist the tap. 

Scalding hot water cascaded down onto his shoulders, darkening his dyed blue hair as he closed his eyes and turned his face up to the spray. He could still hear it, though. Still see Tomo's face.

__

"Then I guess…well…this is goodbye, Houjun."

"Yes," he whispered to the empty air, brushing away the steam of the heat with the tips of his fingers. "It's goodbye, Tomo."

@@@

_I will not cry._

I will not.

He slumped down on the park bench surrounding the playground in the vicinity of where he had run to earlier, not really seeing where he was going, but determined to put sufficient distance between the house and himself. In the distance, a motorcycle engine roared to life, once, twice. 

It was as though he could feel Houjun in the air, smell his distinctive cologne. In fact, all he had to do was close his eyes, and he could see stray strands of long, silky blue hair dancing in the breeze of an imagined recollection.

"I have no reason to feel like this," he snapped at himself angrily, sinking his head into his hands, burrowing his face into his palms as if shutting out the daylight would shut out the image of Houjun and Tomo together. "We met barely, what, a month ago, and the most romantic thing he's ever done is to take my picture. And that wasn't even anything. It was all professional."

He knew he was beginning to babble aloud, but the stream of muffled rants from beneath his fingers refused to stop. 

"It's just a crush. I'll get over it. He won't mean anything to me a few days from now. Everything will be back to normal. I'm giving this up. No more photographs, no more competitions." He was definitely –not– turning up for the lunch with Yui.

But god knew there was something in his heart that was breaking apart, little piece by little piece. In the recent weeks, certainty had been growing in his heart. It was as though they had been meant for each other.

*Flashback

"You look tired," Houjun said sympathetically, sitting down beside Genrou and handing him a mug. "I'm sorry it's taking so long, but you know how those fashion people are. They need to doll you up in every single thing possible, from feathers to leathers."

Was that rhyme supposed to be a joke? His shoulders ached. Out of the corner of his eye, Genrou looked mournfully at the pile of clothes that was stacked up at the corner of the room, partially hidden by a curtain that was his dressing room. Yes, he knew how those fashion people were, all right.

With a start, he realized Houjun had been trying to get him to take the brown cup. "Here," Houjun was saying, "Have a drink, it'll make you feel better."

"I don't take coffee," Genrou responded automatically, and then immediately felt like kicking himself. _He's offering you a drink, damn it!_

Houjun laughed. It was a low, pleasant sound that echoed and tingled in Genrou's ears. 

"Something about you told me you didn't, Tasu. It's warm lemonade and honey. Thank goodness for sixth senses, or I'd have to run all the way back to the vending machine, eh?"

*End of Flashback

Okay, fine. Granted that his dislike of coffee wasn't a prime example to show just how fated two people were to be together. He still thought it had counted for something, though. 

_I wish it did._

He was defeated. He looked at the gravel on the ground between his fingers, absentmindedly bumping over the little gray stones, his mind turning in aimless circles, until his gaze landed on…a pair of pink and white sneakers.

_Wait. Pink and white sneakers?_

_Oh, no. _

"Here's a question posed to every god above," a thoughtful voice wondered aloud from somewhere up and around. 

"How in the world did I get such a dumb brother?"


	16. 14: Sisterly concerns

Chapter Fourteen

He bolted upright, his head snapping up as he frantically tried to think of ways to run. Not that he could see very clearly. Through the heavy mask of tears that he had succumbed to earlier, all he could make out was a fuzzy brown bob, some blue and green below that, and then a rectangular something that was presumably being held.

With a snort that inadvertently turned into a heavy sigh, Miaka fished around in her pocket and pulled out a packet of tissue paper. Ripping it open with her thumb and index finger, she plucked out a piece and handed it to Genrou.

"Miaka?" Genrou's voice was very small.

"Shut up," she replied irritably. "Just shut up and stop crying." It discomfited her to see her loud, obnoxious twin brother like this, and somewhere deep down, she was glad she had found him. Someone was going to pay for reducing Genrou into this stupid sniveling mess. Miaka shook her head and tried to ignore the loud sniffling, the blowing of a nose, and finally a watery "Shit. How did you get here?"

She rolled her eyes. "God, don't be an idiot, Genrou. I followed you here. It took me a while because I was stuck hiding in the back of the bus when you alighted and I had to get off one stop later and walk back here."

"Why are you following me?"

Miaka threw up her hands in exasperation, and willed herself not to scream in frustration. "I have brains, contrary to what you believe, brother dearest! You've been acting too weird lately! That letter arrives for you with that stupid pet name Mom had for you when we were kids. My clothes are disappearing on more than a few occasions. Mom was ranting around the house because she couldn't find her white handbag. Now, why would I think it strange that only the women of the house start losing their things and not, say, you, when you're about five times as untidy and fifty times more careless? Soon after that, a leggy, redheaded supermodel named Tasu Leika—" she thrust a finger at the cover of the item she was holding, "—appears on the front of my favorite magazine. Funny how she looks like you, don't you think?"

"Will you quit it with the fucking sarcasm, _please_?"

She exhaled noisily, then nudged him in the side. In the second he looked up suspiciously, she threw her arms around him in a suffocating bear hug.

"Gah, Genrou, I never knew you could do something like that, that's all. And I'm proud of you, despite how silly this all seems! I wish I could tell the world that you're my sister! Um, I mean, my brother! But then I find you and you're acting like this!"

Genrou was beginning to turn blue from the lack of air. He spluttered helplessly, tried to wave his arms, but remained entangled as Miaka continued talking.

"I swear, I'll never forgive whoever made you cry!"

If he wasn't going to die from strangulation, than Genrou Shun would probably have passed away in the shock that followed that statement. Plus the added outrage that he had been caught…well—was there any other way to put it?—crying? It was too much.

"Tell me what's wrong, okay?" she sounded hopeful. "I promise I won't tell Mom even if you don't, though. I just…you know," her voice sounded suspiciously misty, but sincere, "I just want to let you know I'm here for you, Genrou."

He glared at her through eyes that were beginning to become slightly glazed even as he fought for breath, rasping slightly. When had that pig head become so nice? Well, maybe he could begin analyzing that as soon as she let him go.

@@@

Houjun stepped out of the shower, holding the thick blue towel about his waist with one hand and pushing open the door to the bedroom with the other. A cloud of steam followed his exit, and he shivered involuntarily as he left the warm confines of the bathroom. 

He smiled slightly as he thought of Yui. He hadn't met the exuberant woman in nearly half a year, because they had been busy with their respective jobs, he with his photography and she with her administrative work in a modeling conglomerate. She had mentioned that she wanted to go over the contestants for the National Photographic Modeling Competition, which would be held in—he did a quick mental calculation in his head—approximately a fortnight. He would be covering that event, taking the pictures for the annuals and the various magazines showcasing the event. The chief photographer for this competition had yet to be decided, and he knew reasonably that he himself was in the running. As it was, he already had so much to do, but the pay that came with the job was usually worth it.

As he raised his eyes to the wall, absentmindedly toweling himself dry and reaching down to grab the black boxers from where they had been tossed on the bed, his gaze flickered to the framed photograph beside it.

@@@

He shot her one more dangerous look, but Miaka only beamed at him expectantly and crossed her arms, obviously waiting for him to begin. He sighed to himself, growled outwardly, and then leaned back and closed his eyes, aware that it was a lost battle.

"Where do you want me to start?"

Miaka shrugged and stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth thoughtfully. "At the beginning is as good as anywhere, I suppose."

Genrou exhaled noisily.

@@@

Houjun, like many other professionals in this line who enjoyed their work, often immortalized beautiful pictures in canvas and hung them in various spots around his home. The newest addition to his collection twinkled slightly down at him; lips half-curved in a playful smile, thick, silky red hair framing high cheekbones.

"That's right," he murmured aloud to himself, tearing his eyes from the enlarged photograph and walking to the closet, randomly picking out a navy blue dress shirt and silver cuffs, still thinking about the picture. 

__

I wonder if she'll be participating?

He could just convince himself that the interest was purely work-related. Push aside the snide voice in the back of his head that told him otherwise. He suddenly remembered that he had been about to call her earlier. 

Houjun's gaze moved across the room as his fingers buttoned up the shirt automatically, landing atop the plain black telephone that was half-buried under his jacket across the floor of the room.

_Should I? _


	17. 15: Vacillation

Chapter Fifteen

When he described the photograph taking and followed it with the brief explanation of the portfolio—and hence the dozens of pictures ranging from him in gowns to casual wear—Miaka was gaping, stunned at him. Irritably, he plowed on, determined not to stop before he regained common sense and before the fact that he was telling his twin sister all of this sank in. He purposely skipped any personal tidbit, and shoved all thoughts of Tomo and Houjun to the back of his mind. He did mention Doukun though. By the time he had finished the part where Yui had called him earlier this morning, his spectator's jaw had hit rock bottom.

"I was supposed to meet that crazy woman for lunch. But…damn it, I don't think I'll be going. I'm sick of all this, and I want it to fucking end."

The fact that Genrou had suddenly too-casually looked away at his conclusion made Miaka raise an eyebrow. "Is that all there is to it?"

He snorted and turned back around, glaring at her. "Hell, yes! Why are you asking? I told you everything!"

She stared at him for a moment longer. Uncomfortable, his gaze sank to the ground.

"No," Miaka's voice was plaintive. "You haven't told me why you were crying, Genrou."

"It's nothing!" his jerky, desperate shout was a direct lie to the façade that he was trying his hardest to keep up. Realizing that almost immediately, he groaned and pulled his legs up onto the bench, resisting the urge to scream. 

"Anything else you need to clarify?" he asked dryly, attempting to hide the fact that his throat was still clogged with emotion. He thought of the photographer again, smiling softly at him; a tanned hand reaching out to shift Genrou's position and pull a few tendrils of his hair over his face; tucking an obscenely cheerful sunflower behind his ear for one of the pictures; winking at him from behind the lens of the camera. The image flashed forward to Houjun, held safely out of his reach, in Tomo's arms. 

_Get over it!_ He pleaded silently. _Just. Get. Over. It. Genrou._

"Does that mean that that day, at the shopping center when I was following you…it was you on the ground?" his sister's voice was turning sly. "Kissing that man? Or is he a woman in disguise?"

Genrou was torn between hitting Miaka upside-down, or laughing hysterically. He decided that the latter option was a safer one.

Miaka stared at her brother, who was snorting and choking so hard in mirth that tears rolled down his cheeks, and bristled. "What's so funny?"

He pointed at her and laughed even harder. It was a good five minutes before he could calm himself down enough to wheeze out a reply to the death glare that Miaka was giving him.

"Houjun? A woman? Not likely!"

__

Oh no. I JUST TOLD MYSELF I WOULD FORGET ABOUT IT! Genrou would have kicked himself if he could, but as it was, he settled for gritting his teeth and trying his best to shove the photographer's face out of his mind and hoping his sister wouldn't press the issue.

No such luck.

Miaka peered at him. "So you were kissing a guy," she mused, looking directly at her brother. "Why? So that I would get the wrong idea and leave? Is that it?"

__

Of course!

Not.

Hell, Genrou you idiot, she's giving you a way out! Take it!

"I'm trying to figure this out properly, Genrou," she said primly, folding her hands and placing them in her lap. "You can help me out so I can help you out, or you can do whatever you want and I won't really care. As long as you wash my dishes for a month."

"Excuse me?" he managed, only half-paying attention as his thoughts raced. "What?" 

And then it sank in. "No!"

She grinned innocently at him. "So, Genrou? Answer the question. Was that all there was to what happened that day? Or is my little brother experiencing a sexuality crisis?"

It hit far too close to home, and he could feel his cheeks burning. "Shut up! Don't fucking call me that!"

She moved closer to him, that impish smile still plastered on her face. "Or is," she cooed, reaching out and patting him on the head before he could stop her, "Or is my little brother—could he possibly be?—in love?"

__

Bingo.

@@@

Houjun bit his lip, and then decided against the call. When he _did_ talk to Tasu Leika, he didn't want to be rushing about. Mostly because he wasn't sure of what he wanted to say in the first place. Walking to the dresser, he stooped slightly, scooping the silver watch from the bedside table.

@@@ 

"Aw!" Miaka's shriek made Genrou's hair stand on end. "I've hit the nail right on the head haven't I?"

He wasn't quite sure if she had, and told her just that. "Maybe."

She began laughing insanely, clapping her hands like a deranged Energizer bunny and rocking backwards and forwards on the bench. He wondered belatedly if he could scoot away and pretend that this had never happened.

But to do that, he would probably have to go back a long, long way to the beginning, starting from the very moment he had seen that cursed flyer.

"Well then! What's stopping you?! Call the guy out for a drink!"

Genrou stared at his sister as though she had grown purple horns. "You haven't been listening to me!" he hissed at her through clenched teeth. "He—along with the whole world—thinks I'm a WOMAN. You know? With a—" he gestured wildly at his chest, indicating the lack of inflation. "And you want me to just walk up to him and ask him out? You're fucking crazy!"

Her hysterical laughing was beginning to scare him, quite truthfully, but she shut up at that and stared at Genrou thoughtfully.

"Well then, just tell him the truth?"

__

One sheep…I will not lose my temper…two sheep…I will –not–…three sheep… 

Genrou exploded. 

"You don't understand!" he growled, his hands clenching into fists. "Has it ever occurred to you that he might have someone?! That. He. Might. Not. Want. A. Relationship?" 

_A relationship with me, no less,_ he added to himself silently.

Miaka raised an eyebrow at him, and then shock and understanding flooded her features. "So that's why you were—"

"I WASN'T FUCKING CRYING, OKAY?" he snapped. And then he gave up trying to hide anything any longer, exhaling in a sudden rush of tiredness.

"You want to know everything? I'll tell you everything. See, this is the actual, whole, bloody situation…"


	18. 16: Coming to a decision

Chapter Sixteen

Fifteen minutes, a lot of nodding on Miaka's part, and a dictionary's worth of expletives later, Genrou ran out of steam.

"…And I –don't– know why I'm even fucking telling you this because there's nothing you can fucking bloody well do anyway and damn if I don't know what I'm going to do either! So I just want this entire freaking, god damned, stupid mess to be done with because I'm so fucking tired of being this fucking, bloody, confused and upset by my fucking, bloody feelings!"

Admirably, Miaka only took a moment to dissect through the vulgarities and obtain the entire sentence, but it took another whole minute to come up with a suitable reaction. Cautiously, his twin pursed her lips thoughtfully, and tried to think of a diplomatic way to break her opinion. 

"You're just saying that, Gen-chan. You're really just afraid, aren't you?"

He spluttered, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Stupid pig! Whatever gave you that—"

"It just seems to me that you don't want to –try–, Gen-chan!" she said earnestly, turning to him with wide eyes, wearing a begging expression for him to at least hear her out before storming off. "Don't you see?"

"I most definitely do not fucking see—"

She blew out her breath, slightly exasperated. "I _know_, that's why I'm _telling_ you now. Can you please try to look at the big picture?"

"All hail to the fucking canvas. I thought even you would have something better than that, no shit."

Miaka fumed as her brother rose, muttering under his breath about how useless sisters were. But she knew him too well, and she could see that the clenching of his fists wasn't really about what she was saying, and neither was his tense, locked jaw. Before she could do anything, however, Genrou had already begun walking away.

Desperate, Miaka leapt to her feet and cupped her hands to her mouth, sucking in a deep breath to holler at the figure that was already crossing the road to the other bend of estates. Her voice reverberated around the empty playground, and carried forward to a curious old lady who had just alighted from her tiny Beetle and had prior to that moment been unloading her groceries.

"YOU'RE THE DUMBASS FOR NOT CHASING AFTER WHAT YOU WANT! STUPID GENROU!"

Genrou gritted his teeth and stopped in mid-stride, fighting the urge to just run to a petrol kiosk, buy a can of kerosene, and come back to set his excuse of a sibling on fire. 

__

Anger management, whoo, and breeeeeeeathe agaaaaain. 

He turned around.

"I CAN'T DO FUCKING ANYTHING, IDIOT! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? DO YOU THINK I CAN JUST FUCKING CONVINCE HIM THAT I REALLY DO FUCKING LIKE HIM AND ASK HIM TO GIVE ME A DAMN CHANCE?"

The old lady looked back and forth between them curiously, a wrinkled little hand moving to push the thick plastic spectacles higher onto her nose as she glanced from Miaka, to Genrou, and then at Miaka again.

"OF COURSE YOU CAN!"

"YEA AND ELEPHANTS PLAY WITH FUCKING BARBIE DOLLS!"

"STOP _BEING_ SUCH A TWIT! I'VE GOT A PLAN!"

"—SO JUST SHUT UP AND PRETEND THIS NEVER—YOU GOT A WHAT?!"

@@@

As Houjun walked to the bus stop, his sleek black sling-briefcase hanging from his fingers, he thought he heard the sounds of shouting in the distance. The neighborhood was normally quiet this time of the day, and he was rather surprised that what sounded like a brawl was going on.

If he had had the time, he would certainly have gone to take a look. As it was, he was already running late.

Houjun ignored the noise, stepping quickly over the curb and hurrying to the main road. 

@@@

After she had dragged him back to the playground bench, (stopping momentarily by the stunned geriatric passerby and apologizing furiously), Miaka outlined her plan, barely pausing for breath. Mostly because she didn't want Genrou to disagree before he had heard the whole idea.

Perhaps it was fortunate that Genrou reacted the way he did. Rare, even. On most occasions, her twin brother was just angry, foul-mouthed and occasionally in shock. But this had to be a record. 

Because Miaka had only seen Genrou flabbergasted twice, this being the second time. The first time was when, as kids, they had gone to the beach and nine-year-old Genrou had accidentally thrown his spade into a burly lifeguard's lap. And then unthinkingly stuck his hand down the man's pants to retrieve it before the outraged lifeguard made his displeasure, shock and embarrassment very vocally and physically known. Genrou had had that astonished, stunned and horrified amazement written on his face at that precise moment his hand made contact with the 'spade'. He also had a bruise under his left eye for a week after that.

"You…you want me to go on lying to him?"

She became defensive immediately. "That's not what I said! All I said was that you should really give the both of you a chance! If you think you really like him—and you said he was into guys too, right?—then at least give yourselves the opportunity to start really liking each other!"

"And that solves the damn problem by…?"

Miaka scrunched up her face in annoyance. "If he likes you back for who you are, then the fact that you're a guy or that you've been deceiving him all along shouldn't matter!"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Blinked again.

"…are you for real?"

She threw up her hands. "Don't be such a cynic! Just trust me for once and go with the flow! You're in articles around the country, do you know that? The mysterious, beautiful new face of Cover Girl fame. Hold out for this last one—what did you say it was again?—and then see if things can really work. Giving up here in the middle of nowhere is just really…silly!"

Genrou bit his lip.

"Okay," he said slowly, "Supposing you're right. Supposing this insane, crazy idea of so-called true love conquering all actually exists. Supposing I listen to you and just pull out all the stops for the National Photographic Modeling Competition…"

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Shouldn't I be going for lunch with Yui in half an hour?"

"Your lunch with—OH MY GOD, GENROU, GET UP, GET UP, WE NEED TO GET YOU READY!"


	19. 17: Everything that can go wrong

Chapter Seventeen

Houjun was just trying to settle a little more comfortably into his seat when the cell phone in his bag rang. Shaking his head inwardly as the bus went over another rough bump, he hung onto the front bar for support, undoing the clasp with his free hand and clumsily fishing the phone out of his bag.

"Hello?"

Static, and then more crackling, before the familiar voice of Myou Juan boomed out over the transmission. "Houjun! Where are you?"

Houjun laughed at Myou Juan's accusing tone. "I'm on the way to a lunch appointment. Is anything the matter?"

"Yes! I was wondering if you'd seen Taka!"

A ball of suspicion formed in the photographer's stomach. "No, I haven't, not since Chinoarov. What's happened?"

The older man sighed. "He was due for a photo-shoot this morning with Dusilic Jeans. The production people furious, because they hired a group of five for a specific look, and Taka was meant to be one of them. The other models had to be sent back without payment because Dusilic has mapped their commercials and all around the five of them. The other agencies have been calling me up all day to inquire about Taka. I've tried calling his house and his mobile, but he hasn't been home since last week and his cell is dead."

Houjun bit his lip. While he hadn't formed as strong a bond with the tall, dark-haired youth as he had Nuriko, he had still spoken to Taka on a few occasions, and found the teen to be a headstrong person. Taka smoked, had piercings, tattoos that had gotten him into trouble with photographers before, and admitted freely that he was in deeper than that. He went out drinking frequently, but it hadn't disrupted his work before. Not until today.

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Myou Juan finally continued. Houjun could hear the worry in the agency boss' voice. Myou Juan treated each and every one of his models as family, and had on more than one occasion rang Houjun up when the latter had had assignments with Myou Juan's agency to find out how the models were doing. Houjun and Myou Juan went back a long way, even though Houjun was nearly a decade younger.

"Did you check the pub he frequents? Or the club? You can ask Saihitei where those are…Taka –does– sometimes drag him along, you know."

"Saihitei!" Myou Juan sounded relieved. "I'd forgotten all about him. I'll just give him a call right now. Thanks Houjun."

Houjun noticed that the stop where he had to change buses was approaching, and hastily stood, making sure his bag was at least partway clasped before reaching out to press the bell. "Don't worry about it, Juan. Give me a call if you still can't find him, all right?"

The bus hit another pothole, and Houjun's head banged on the low ceiling of the double-decker. He winced, nearly dropping the phone and missing Myou Juan's effusive thanks. 

_Ow…_

He hoped Taka was okay.

@@@

All the way up the pathway leading to their front door, Genrou grumbled about how brothers were always made to pay for things. Things like cab fares. Miaka tuned him out as she fished her keys out from the pouch at her waist and unlocked the door, but paused to read a bright yellow note that had been stuck to the knocker.

Miaka dear,

There's an emergency meeting at the office, and we will probably be home late tonight. When you come back, please make dinner for yourself and your brother.

Mom and Dad

Genrou snatched the note, ignoring his sister's outraged cry as she swiped for it, and then read it aloud. His face paled. "They want you to fucking cook? You poisoned us all the last time!"

"Excuse me! I did not poison anything! You choked on the spinach, remember?"

He thought for a moment, and then, unable to think of anything else to do, he stuck his tongue out at her.

"Childish," she huffed, pushing open the door before suddenly remembering their mission. "Argh! This is no time to be dallying! Get in!"

"What the hell are you planning to do?!" her brother snarled as he was shoved violently into the house.

"I thought we covered that."

He rolled his eyes. "Yea, but what part do –you– play in this whole mess?"

Miaka laughed, and then covered her mouth as she collapsed into what sounded suspiciously like a snickering fit. "You've been taking my things all along, haven't you? Well this time, with me around, I'll show you just how you're supposed to look."

Genrou swallowed hard.

"Ah, don't look so worried, Gen-chan! I'm an expert at this sort of thing!"

@@@

Houjun glanced at his watch and fought the urge not to bang his head against the window. Earlier, when the bus had turned onto the expressway, he had dismissed the situation as a small problem. Now all the vehicles seemingly, firmly wedged into place on the black mortar of the road, it was obvious that he had made a mistake.

_What's going on up ahead?_

He craned his neck. The traffic jam traveled all the way to the bend about fifty meters ahead. He thought he caught a glimpse of policemen walking around, but it was too far for him to be sure of without his glasses.

Suddenly, a flash of red lights whizzed past the left shoulder of the road, in the emergency lane. It was an ambulance, its siren wailing in the heavy, humid air. Houjun let his breath escape in a sigh as he settled back into his seat and closed his eyes.

There were so many accidents on the road these days. While Houjun did not practice any definite religion, he had, on a whim, taken up Buddhist Studies in his college days, and the lesson of compassion had been one that continued to stay with him up till now. He mentally offered a short prayer for whoever it was who had been hurt.

@@@

"What's his name?" the chief medic asked, as the paramedics brought the stretcher down to ground level swiftly. One of them, a plump middle-aged woman, knelt down and checked the victim's body efficiently for broken bones or twisted alignments that would hinder the transfer into the ambulance. One ankle looked bent at a particularly odd angle.

One of the more senior policemen nodded sharply towards a young man, barely twenty, who looked as though he was going to faint from all the blood that painted the shattered plastic and the remnants of the motorcycle that littered the road. "Show the medic the identification card."

The medic took the item from the trembling boy's gloved hand and scanned it quickly. "Got it. Let's load Mr. Ri Hikou in."


	20. 18: At the coffeehouse

Chapter Eighteen

Houjun debated calling Yui to tell her to go ahead and eat first. He wasn't going to be in town anytime soon, that was for sure. Even a crippled, blind snail could move faster than the current speed at which the bus was nudging forward.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and the site of the accident was just ahead. Houjun noted with relief that the traffic policemen were trying to clear the wreckage to one side, and that the cars around the bend seemed to be moving off. He was just bringing out his cell phone to key a quick message to his lunch date when something compelled him to look slowly up, and through the slightly dusty windows of the bus…

…at the number-plate of the motorcycle, which a uniform-clothed leg was currently blocking. Unthinkingly, Houjun strained to see past the obstacle, nearly dropping his bag in the process. His compact umbrella rolled out of his half-opened briefcase and thudded merrily down the aisle of the bus, heading for the steps leading the door. Gritting his teeth at his carelessness, Houjun clasped the bag shut and got up to retrieve the errant object, smiling apologetically at the young girl standing in his way as he shouldered past her. Just as his fingers closed around the umbrella, he glanced out the clear panel, the slightly crooked numbers and letters stuck to the back of the motorcycle catching his eye.

__

Holy—

@@@

Yui uncrossed her legs, and crossed them again, a slim hand reaching up to flick back the few loose golden tendrils that had escaped from the braid. She ran her tongue over her teeth, absentmindedly noting the admiring stares that she was drawing from the men situated in the various spots in the restaurant. 

"What's keeping him?" she muttered, glancing at her watch again for the umpteenth time. "He's never late."

Houjun aside, she hoped Tasu Leika would come. The model had seemed extremely unwilling this morning, her reluctance bordering on rudeness. Even though Tasu Leika had agreed to come, Yui wouldn't put it past her as saying it only to get Yui off her back. Strange how there had been a change in tone after she had mentioned Houjun. Perhaps the photographer and the model were better acquainted than she had assumed.

Yui had seen the pictures of the fresh-faced, fiery-headed young woman, and knew that this one had the possibility of making it big. She was going to hunt down the model and convince Tasu Leika to join even if it meant stalking the victim. The national competition had previously proved an immense affair, rife with talent scouts and movie directors, and there was no reason that this year would be any different. 

Yui, persistent, spontaneous and bubbly by nature, had found her niche when she had switched from part-time modeling to administrative work, in one of the biggest talent/modeling agencies, no less. She loved working behind the scenes, planning the photograph books, the advertisements and the competitions. It had been two years since she had made the transition from being in front of the camera to being one of the milling crowd, and the exhilaration and satisfaction of seeing the events she had been in charge of take place smoothly hadn't waned.

Plus she didn't like seeing blatant opportunities go to waste.

She tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, signaling the waitress over to ask for another cup of coffee. Five minutes more and she would call Houjun. Meanwhile, she would just smile at the rather charming-looking young man in the corner of the room. He had been eyeing her since she had come in, and Yui was pleased to note that he hadn't taken his attention off her once.

_What a sweet boy he is._

At that very moment, he shifted his gaze to glance behind her.

She took the thought back. The man's jaw had fallen to the table, he was positively drooling, and he wasn't even looking at her! Mildly annoyed, she turned back just as the waitress arrived with the coffee on a silver tray. As the saucer, and then the cup filled with the aromatic black beverage, was set down, Yui smiled her thanks before reaching automatically for the milk.

The waitress moved away, and at that very moment, a collective silence seemed to fall upon the room. Yui looked up from the teapot her fingers had just wound around. 

She blinked. 

Blinked again.

And then she shot out of her seat, nearly knocking over the cup of coffee in her excitement, a broad grin splitting her face as she waved frantically at the new arrival. "LEEEEEIKAAAA-CHAAAAN!"

@@@

Genrou blanched. Behind him, trying rather unsuccessfully to look unobtrusive, Miaka had turned the color of milk.

"Who's that?" she hissed as she all but grabbed a menu from the closest table, plunking herself down into the chair and shoving the day's entrees in her face to block the fact that she was conversing with him. "Is that your date?"

"Ob-vi-ous-ly," he answered through gritted teeth, feeling the frogs in his stomach begin to hop as every eye in the room seemed to turn on him. "What, do you think she just wants my autograph?"

The blond woman in the middle of the room was standing now, jumping up and down excitedly and waving to the empty seat beside her. Genrou felt a pang of relief so inexplicable when he realized that she was alone. 

All the way here, he had questioned himself if he was doing the right thing. Miaka's warped logic had begun to make less and less sense the more he wandered into the dangerous territory of the what-ifs that could happen. What if he didn't even make it in the competition? What if he was told that he was too ugly and was asked to get lost? What if he told Houjun the truth? What if Houjun hated him? What if he—

"Come here!" the blonde gestured enthusiastically, her shout echoing in the suddenly silent restaurant. Genrou noted belatedly that it _was_ a rather classy place, and was suddenly glad that he had taken Miaka's advice not to wear jeans.

*Flashback

"The horror!" Miaka exclaimed, swooning dramatically over the heap of clothes that she had discarded on the bed for being unsuitable. "Jeans?! You might as well wear flannel! Cotton wool!"

*End of Flashback

Taking a deep breath, he wove his way through the tables, trying his best to ignore the stares of all the people—men and women alike—that was fixed on his progress forward. If he stayed calm and cool, there would be nothing he couldn't handle, right?

"Hey!" Yui greeted warmly, extending a slim, delicate, Swatch-watch-encased hand. "I'm so glad you came! Here, sit down, sit down!"

Genrou obeyed, suddenly feeling his courage drain from him in the face of the woman's exuberance. He smiled weakly at her and took the proffered hand, shaking it limply before returning his arms to their position across his chest, entangling up with the beaded handbag Miaka had insisted he bring.

"Well," Yui continued, beaming at him as her fingers descended upon a cup of coffee, the steam still rising from the surface of the black liquid. She lifted the drink and took a long sip from it. Genrou marveled privately at the temperature-resistant quality of her mouth. "Well," he echoed foolishly.

She set the cup back down on the saucer, before clasping her hands and looking thoughtfully at him. "I know you're not keen on the National Modeling Competition. I hope to convince you otherwise."

_Well, at least –someone– is straightforward around here._

Yui suddenly pushed her chair back, leaning down to take something. Genrou gulped as the terry-blue tank top revealed a generous cleavage, and hastily turned his attention to the pepper and salt bottles on the table. 

__

See no evil. Thou shalt see no evil!

A loud thump on the table nearly made him jump out of his skin. Yui had retrieved a professional-looking, mahogany case, and was currently pursing her lips as she keyed in a combination. The case snapped open, and she hefted a slim stack of documents out, thumbing quickly through them before fishing out a single sheet of paper covered with black print too small to be read from where he was sitting. She grinned at his confused look.

"I've already ordered. While we're waiting for the food, let me tell you about this event…"


	21. 19: A disguise falling apart?

Chapter Nineteen

[A few days later]

Genrou tentatively pushed the door to the studio open, and his eyes registered the lack of movement and noise almost as immediately as the silence assailed his ears. He didn't know what he was doing here. There was no need for him to be here, as a matter of fact. He had already signed the necessary forms for his entry into the competition via Yui, and she had arranged for him to go down and submit his profile shots at the main company later that day. But he had already collected his portfolio from the studio the day of the lunch—of which Houjun had failed to turn up—so, as he reminded himself yet again, there really was no reason for him to be back here at Capri Studios. 

Other than the fact, of course, that he was dying with curiosity about why the photographer had not turned up for lunch. Add the point about having a burning, irrepressible crush on the gorgeous albeit taken Houjun Ri, which pretty much summed it up. Yui had tried to call Houjun that day, but there had been no answer, and she had reluctantly been forced to come to the conclusion that he had forgotten, or was busy or whatnot. Somehow, it didn't seem to fit in the frame of mind he thought Houjun had.

_It's not like you know him very well, though…_

So, against all his common sense, and much to Miaka's delight, he had made his way here. 

The competition was starting that weekend. He privately hoped that everything would work out, even if his heart was twisted up in nervous knots and his brain wasted along with it. This would be the last but he remembered what he had told himself a few nights ago. 

_I won't give him up without trying. The least we could do is…I don't know, be friends? _

The worse that could happen was…well…Genrou didn't want to go there.

However, it surprised him that the studio door had been unlocked, because it seemed as though no one was there. Could something have cropped up?

"Hello?" he called out gingerly, his hand on the doorframe as he stepped past the main reception room and into the first of the studios he remembered with stunning clarity. He adjusted the thick straps of the checkered brown and yellow carry-on on his left shoulder as he walked. "Is anyone here?"

He wandered across the floor and into the second studio, wondering privately how obvious he must have seemed that first day he had seen Houjun. A fierce heat was just beginning to work its way into his cheeks, as he reached for the second door.

It swung open before his hand touched the doorknob, and he fell forward neatly, vaguely hearing the surprised yelp from whoever it was on the other side. His jacket flew open as his arms flailed for balance, the bag flying to the floor as the Velcro clasp ripped apart, spilling the contents of the leather pouch onto the ground. Genrou thudded onto a hard chest, sending the both of them sprawling towards the ground.

Only after the better part of five minutes could Genrou gather his knocked-out senses enough to realize that he still pinned the unwitting cushion to his fall beneath him. He let out a small squeak as he pushed himself off and scooted backwards, hitting the door with his back.

Before him, a young, slim man blinked owlishly at him, before a slender hand groped the floor automatically, landing on a pair of slim wire-rimmed spectacles. Long, violet tresses fell over the shoulders of the white sweater, which had been hiked up to expose muscled pectorals.

_He looks familiar. Where have I seen him before?_

"Tasu Leika?" the amused but slightly groggy voice answered his mental self-query of whether they had met before. "What are you doing here?"

And then Genrou remembered. The photographs of this model decked the walls of the reception hall. Genrou had scrutinized a particularly lovely picture the day he had come for the Chinoarov competition, on his way out. He remembered Houjun's loopy signature in the column beneath the photograph, and the model's name printed neatly to the side of the credits. Nuriko Matsera.

He stared longer at the young man; his mouth gaping slightly as his thoughts whirred by in a jumble. From behind the stylish turquoise frames, hazel eyes looked inquiringly back at him.

_He must wear contact lenses for the photographs, to show off those nice eyes…_

The question of a few moments before sank in.

"Oh!" he recovered, laughing weakly and snapping his arms over his chest while trying to stand up and gather his rebellious belongings from across the carpet at the same time. "What am I doing here? I was…um…I was just…"

Nuriko stood up more gracefully, a small smile curving his lips as he dusted himself off, before bending down again to retrieve some of the spilt items. In a few moments, he had just about tidied up the entire mess. Smoothly, his hands full of cosmetics and tissue packets, he tugged at the bag and deposited the load neatly before Genrou could say anything. Then he stepped back, still smiling. "You were just?" he prompted.

"I was just in the area," Genrou finished miserably. _Lame, Genrou, lame._

Nuriko laughed, moving past him to open the door he had been about to step through before their accident. "Well, there's no one here right now. Myou Juan got a call from Taka. The idiot's apparently landed himself in jail for some minor offence, and he doesn't want his parents to know. Saihitei and Houjun are still at the hospital. I came back to grab stuff for submission to the National Photographic thing. Just about to leave, in fact."

Genrou had tuned out somewhere along the second line. His throat felt dry.

"Oh, I see," he licked his lips as worry suddenly flooded him. "Why…why is Houjun in hospital? Is he all right?"

Nuriko turned abruptly and leveled a look at him. "You mean you didn't know?"

_Know what?_

"Houjun's brother was involved in a motorcycle accident," the shorter model shrugged, turning back on his way and smoothly sliding a large brown envelope across the counter, sweeping it into his bag as he walked. "It's better now than it was a few days ago, but Hikou's still in a coma. In fact, I'm on my way there for a visit right now, before I head on over to Shantez. Want to come?"

@@@

Nuriko tried not to glance too obtrusively at the redhead who occupied the seat of the car next to him, and was at that moment buckling in. Tasu Leika really _was_ as beautiful as the photographs depicted. Maybe more. But there was something strange about her, something Nuriko couldn't place. It was a nagging feeling that had bothered him since they had bumped together, but he didn't know what it was.

He had forgotten it momentarily when she had asked about Houjun. Asked specifically about Houjun, and not about Saihitei, he had noted immediately. Nuriko had had to fight from giggling in that moment when he realized that the other model held a torch for the photographer. It was so blatant, in the catch in her voice, in the guilty blush, in the worried amber-flecked eyes. Even now, when he thought about it, he still felt like grinning, resembling somewhat a Cheshire cat straining to keep the fact that he had his paw on the canary a secret.

Now however, the unease returned in full force to his mind, relentlessly pursuing the doubts that had no natural reason to surface as he snapped his own seatbelt into place and started the engine. 

__

What is it about her that doesn't fit…?

@@@

In the empty studio, now illuminated only by a solitary, warm yellow light from the corner lamp, a weathered brown wallet lay under the low side table; various cards and a photograph scattered around it. Printed on one of the cards, next to the black and white picture of a grinning young man, was an identification number, below the name Kou Genrou.


	22. 20: Kind of meeting again

Chapter Twenty

Saihitei emerged from the lift, his arms laden with a huge paper bag. The corner of a thick green flannel towel and a striped gray sweatshirt peeked out from the top of the brown, crinkled edge. As he walked towards the third room on the left side of the corridor, his car keys clinked noisily in his pocket.

Trying to get his balance as he juggled with the burden and narrowly twisted past the cold metal trolley that was placed strategically in his way, he reached up absentmindedly to tuck a slightly knotted lock of dark brown hair behind his ear. The door opened just as he leaned forward to push it open with his shoulder and he nearly flipped.

"Thanks," Houjun's face was waned and lined visibly with worry still, but gratitude sparked some life in tired cinnamon eyes as he took the bag from Saihitei. "Can you watch over Hikou for a while…?"

Saihitei nodded, steering the photographer firmly towards the bathroom. "I will, you know I will. Go take a shower. You look dreadful. And you're starting to smell." That earned him another small smile, before Houjun disappeared into the small cubicle reeking of detergent and medicated soaps. 

The tall male model walked to the bed, pulling over another chair and sinking unceremoniously into it as his eyes fixed on the young man in the bed. Ri Hikou's face, bruised and scratched badly from the accident, were only the outward signs of the extent of the damage. The teenager had also had a severe concussion along with a fractured skull, added to a femur broken in three places. Closing his eyes, Saihitei offered a short prayer. Hikou was only nineteen; surely he would recover.

The door swung open, bringing with it a rush of cool wind as it made a soft, swishing sound against the carpeted floor. A moment later, Nuriko's face popped out from behind the corner, a cheerful grin on his face as he offered Saihitei the peace sign. Then the hazel gaze traveled to the prone figure tucked beneath the cold sheets, and Nuriko's smile faded.

"Is he any better?"

Saihitei shrugged, then stood up and gestured towards the seat as he spoke. "I don't know, really. No one knows for sure. It really depends on him, at this stage."

The lavender-haired model pursed his lips, before glancing furtively around as if checking for intruders. "Is Houjun all right?"

The older man jerked his thumb towards the faint sounds of the shower.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Nuriko threw a look over his shoulder sheepishly, before turning back around to grin apologetically at Saihitei. "I brought another visitor."

@@@

As the hot spray of water hit his skin, Houjun leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. The recent events had seriously worn him out.

First, there was Hikou's accident. Houjun knew his younger brother was reckless, but this was the first time that anything had actually resulted from that foolhardy carelessness. Then, he had had to call their parents, who, until forty-eight hours ago, had been visiting his great-grandaunt in Shanghai. Between coping with his own worry for Hikou, calming his hysterical mother, and rushing to redistribute and settle work affairs in the leave of absence he had taken, Houjun was fast turning into a wreck. He needed sleep. Badly.

_God,_ he reflected, his hand reaching out absentmindedly for the soap, _has it only been a few days?_

Scrubbing his torso and neck, he bent forward, soaping his arms and legs as thoroughly as his tired hands could manage. He was beyond thinking; his limbs were moving on autopilot.

He spent the next few minutes rinsing himself off and washing his hair, which, after a day of being knotted up, felt tangled and oily. He could hear voices outside; someone else must have arrived, which meant he would have to hurry and see to the guest.

The floor felt icy cold against his bare feet as he padded, dripping, out of the shower, plucking the towel from the counter where he had set it out, and wrapping it around his waist. His head felt heavy as he fished around in the bag for his toothbrush.

As he glanced into the mirror, his reflection stared gloomily through the fog back at him. His ears seemed stuffed with cotton wool, and he had to blink once, twice, before the double vision of the sink disappeared.

Why was this tube of Colgate so heavy? Houjun could barely lift it. He wanted to close his eyes for a few moments of respite.

_I want coffee…_

I have to call Juan and find out how Taka's doing…

I need to go out and buy Dad's asthma medication…

I have to get…I have to get…um…

@@@

Genrou was put to ease immediately by Saihitei's warm greeting. He glanced over at the bed, and felt strangely surprised at the resemblance between Hikou and Houjun. Even with the layers of bandages around the boy's head, and the healing pink lines on the youthful face, the similarity was uncanny.

_Idiot…they're brothers! Were you expecting Michael Jackson?_

Nuriko did most of the talking, updating Saihitei on recent events, chatting about various advertisement calls, appointments, new hair salons and the details of the national competition. Of the two, Saihitei seemed quieter, and looked slightly older with his sleek brown hair swept back by a classy maroon bandanna. Nuriko was obviously the more bubbly one. 

_They seem close._

Genrou tried to think of anything but Houjun. Houjun in the shower. The curtains were a fascinating shade of sickly blue. The carpeted floor was furry. And hey, were Nuriko and Saihitei gay?

A loud 'thunk' from the direction of the bathroom sliced through the murmured conversation between the two models, and the inane monologue in Genrou's mind. For a long moment, the three of them stood there, exchanging questioning glances with the toilet door.

Saihitei sprang into action first, leaping up from his chair and striding towards the bathroom. He lifted one hand, banging it against the door softly. "Houjun?" he called, switching to knock with his knuckles against the thick plastic, "Houjun, you all right in there?"

Genrou's toes turned to ice. Why wasn't Houjun responding? 

He beat Nuriko to the door, biting his lip and trying to ignore Saihitei's growing expression of concern. Dropping to one knee, he snatched one of the pins Miaka had stuck into his hair and jammed it into the lock. He was vaguely aware of Nuriko moving past him in a blur, of the model's voice urgently speaking to someone else outside.

_He's in trouble…he's in trouble…_ the brass band in his head clanged insistently. _Got to get to him…got to get to him…_

The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Houjun was sprawled, comatose, on the wet floor.


	23. 21: Crush jitters

Chapter Twenty One

The first thing that came to Genrou's mind was horror. Why was Houjun on the ground? Why was he lying there like that? Had he drowned in the shower? Was he dead?

The next immediate thought that followed was that Houjun, barely covered by a forest green towel that had been hiked partway up one hip, was undeniably, inescapably and fundamentally naked.

That particular realization wasn't very conducive to rational thought.

His cheeks burst into flame. He tried to stand, but ended up stumbling sideways instead. Genrou slammed his back into the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, so tightly that he could see stars. The hotness of his face burned to epidemic proportions; he was privately sure that he matched the color of his hair. He heard Saihitei's shocked gasp, sensed more than felt the model rush past him into the toilet, and felt more than heard as Nuriko came running back into the room.

_He'll be fine,_ his heart sang with relief. _Saihitei and Nuriko will make sure he's fine. He'll be okay. He's okay._

_Dude!_ his brain screamed, _would you fucking LOOK at that fine piece of meat!_

Genrou cringed.

"Please move out of the way!" a brisk voice commanded clearly. 

"He's over here, nurse," Saihitei shouted from the bathroom. Genrou cracked open one eye to watch as a large, matronly woman marched in through the narrow doorway, flanked by a youthful-looking, freckled male nurse garbed in blue. The woman nodded sharply at the young man, and he disappeared into the cubicle.

"Be careful with his head…I think he hit himself pretty hard." Saihitei, speaking in hushed, hurried tones. The nurse murmured something Genrou couldn't decipher, and in a matter of a few seconds, had emerged from the bathroom, the unconscious photographer cradled in his arms.

Genrou clamped his eyes shut immediately, but the image of an undressed Houjun, water trickling down sculpted, very-noticeable abdominal muscles, long blue hair soaked and plastered in tendrils to one cheek, modesty protected only a flimsy scrap of cloth, danced traitorously past his eyelids. Even his neck felt hot now. Scratch that. His entire body was so tense that sparks could have been dancing off him. He sank slightly to the ground, willing his legs not to shake. 

How much time passed, Genrou didn't really know. He didn't really care, either, still flushed from the embarrassment, from the memory and from his reaction. 

A warm hand descended on his shoulder, and he yelped, looking up so fast that the top of his head nearly collided with Nuriko's chin. The lavender-haired man leapt backwards just in time, barely balancing the Styrofoam cup of tea in his hand, and only then did Genrou notice that the room had gone quiet. Saihitei wasn't there. There was no one else in the room with him and Nuriko. He peered behind him. Well, no one else besides him, Nuriko and Hikou. 

"Leika-chan? Are you okay?" Concern was evident in Nuriko's hazel gaze.

His throat had gone extremely dry, and sucking in air seemed to take too much effort. "I'm…I'm fine."

Nuriko pursed his lips. "You've been standing here muttering to yourself since they came and took Houjun. Saihitei's outside speaking with the doctor, but I wanted to make sure that you were all right. You look…funny." He thrust the cup of tea into Genrou's hands.

"I'm really okay," Genrou forced a grin onto his face. "Just a little shaken up." The warmth of the drink, diffusing through the plastic material of the container, felt good against his palms, and he tentatively lifted the cup and took a sip.

Nuriko nodded understandingly. "I was with them when they gave the diagnosis. It's the lack of sleep and the lack of proper food that gave Jun the fever. He's also dehydrated, but it's nothing serious." He saw the look on Genrou's face, and laughed quietly. "He'll be fine, Leika-chan. Really." 

_Thank God._

"I…it's just that, you know…" he managed, trying to make his tone light, "I came here to see him and then—"

"I know, I know," Nuriko cut off kindly, nodding and smiling at Genrou. "You like him, don't you?"

Genrou spewed out his tea, just as the door swung open.

"Nuri, Leika-chan!" Saihitei grinned at them, relief tangible in his voice. "Houjun's awake. He wants to see the both of you."

@@@

Houjun winced when his fingers found the solid bump on the side of his head. According to Saihitei, who had been the first person he had managed to focus on when he opened his eyes, he had hit the floor loud enough to be heard in the midst of a conversation _and_ through the relatively thick door that separated the bathroom from the main ward.

Even the short half-hour of shut-eye had done wonders. The migraine had receded to a dull buzzing in the back of his skull, but he had, in all truth be told, considered sending Saihitei away just so he could get just a little more sleep. Until the male model had mindlessly uttered the magic words, "Nuriko and Leika-chan came to see you."

_Stupid Saihitei,_ he thought glumly, massaging his temple lightly and adjusting the pillow that was propped up behind his back. He should have known that Houjun couldn't turn away…couldn't turn away from what? 

Deep down, Houjun knew Nuriko would have understood had he brushed him off. They had known each other quite a while now, and were good, if not bosom, friends. Saihitei would have watched over Hikou for him, and everything would be taken care of for the next few hours, because his father had taken his mother back to the family home earlier to rest when it became apparent that his brother was out of mortal danger. So why, in Buddha's name, hadn't he taken the godsend opportunity?

Suddenly, and without warning, the door burst open. 

And Houjun found himself looking at the reason.

@@@

Genrou couldn't quite decide whether to feel frustrated or nervous.

The moment Saihitei had appeared in the doorway, Nuriko had latched onto Saihitei's arm and whispered something into his ear that made the older model's eyes widen. That wouldn't have been so bad, until the identical conspiratorial smiles had appeared on their faces. 

"You go ahead first, Leika-chan!" Nuriko called merrily, waving with the hand that was not resting on Saihitei's arm. "Sai and I need to discuss something in private."

Genrou fought not to narrow his eyes in suspicion. "I could wait for the both of you," he offered.

"Oh, no, no!" Saihitei brushed off the suggestion with a toss of his head. "Houjun's already awake, so you might as well have a nice talk with each other while Nuriko and I take a stroll!"

Before Genrou could come up with a more vehement protest, the pair had turned tail and all but fled the corridor. As they rounded the corner, Saihitei looked back and winked.

_I just love their fucking subtlety._

Resisting the urge to knock his head against the wall, Genrou tried to calm himself down, inhaling deeply and then exhaling slowly. He stared at the door that Saihitei had pointed out.

_Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea. What would I say to him?_

He was seriously debating whether or not to leave when something knocked violently into him from behind, sending him stumbling forward. He crashed, hard, into the door, which swung open to admit him. The harried-looking doctor who had bumped into him didn't even notice as she swept past him towards the elevators.

_SHIIIIIIT. I'm in the room! I'm in HIS room! I'm—_

"Hi," Houjun greeted cheerfully.


	24. 22: Possibilities

Chapter Twenty Two

It _had_ been a while since they had last met.

Despite the welcoming smile that graced Houjun's features, the older man looked tired and gaunt, the curve of his cheekbones shadowed under slightly bloodshot dark brown eyes. Tangled blue hair, untied, fell in soft wisps over Houjun's forehead, the rest tumbling in messy not-quite ringlets past the slim shoulders. 

He looked thinner too, and exhausted. Incongruously, a sudden image of Houjun, grinning impishly at him from behind the lens of the camera, hand gesturing enthusiastically for a change in position or expression, filtered into Genrou's mind.

A few more moments passed before Genrou realized that Houjun was staring at him, a quizzical look on his face. He'd been too lost in his immediate thoughts at seeing Houjun to reply to the latter's greeting.

_Oops. _

"Ah…hi," he answered nervously, unconsciously dusting off the too-large, flowered denim skirt that hung loosely from his hips.

@@@

"It's good to see you, Leika," Houjun leaned back into the pillows, and his shoulder jerked a fraction as he suppressed a wince. Strangely enough, laughter bubbled into his mind, and he tried to stifle it. It wouldn't do to make Tasu Leika feel more uncomfortable than she already seemed to be, no matter how unexpected the situation had turned out. No matter that this was the last place on Earth he would have thought he'd see her again.

@@@

Genrou crossed over to the bed, looking around before settling into one of the large chairs that flanked the bed. Carefully, he propped the borrowed handbag behind him, and then twisted back around to face Houjun. 

Houjun had closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall as he inhaled. Genrou took the opportunity to let his eyes flicker over Houjun's body, checking for any more visible injuries. There were no tubes, however, and the sheet more than covered up the rest of Houjun.

"Are you okay?" the words tumbled out before Genrou could stop them.

Immediately, he felt like an idiot. What kind of a question was that? Obviously, Houjun wasn't okay! The man was lying in a hospital bed and had only a half-hour ago been practically comatose!

A smile curved Houjun's lips, and he glanced over at the visitor. "I haven't felt this good in days. How have you been?"

Genrou relaxed marginally into the chair, his arms coming up unconsciously to rest on the cushioned sides. "Normal, I guess. I haven't been doing much."

"I see."

Genrou heard the unspoken note of curiosity in the other man's noncommittal reply, and hastened to clarify. "I just dropped by the studio for a visit. I met Nuriko there, and he told me you were…you were…um…"

@@@

"Nuriko, ever the perfect gentleman, isn't he?" Houjun interjected smoothly, laughing softly before his face turned serious. "You didn't have to. Thank you for coming."

The look on Leika's face, startled, and then happy, warmed his heart.

_I've missed you,_ the words popped into his mind before he could stop to think, but he thankfully managed to close his mouth just in time. 

It startled Houjun to realize that he really had, though.

Everything about the model before him reminded Houjun of sunshine and fire, from her burning red hair to the large, expressive amber-flecked eyes. Rarely had he left their numerous photo-shoots back then without a smile. 

She blushed so easily, but her wit was razor sharp, almost bordering on the crude. He had noticed her, on a few occasions, either catching herself before anything extremely radical could be retorted to the playful jibes of a random make-up artist or a lighting technician, or choosing to simply join the rambunctious antics of the moment. Tasu Leika seemed to get along with everyone. 

*Flashback

He polished off the equipment with a rag, and then tossed the cloth onto the tabletop, standing and plucking the separate lens from the shelf and hefting it to fit it into the camera. The specialized plastic had just snapped into place when the wind of a conversation from the other room caught his attention.

"Come on, Leika-chan!"

A slight pause, and then, "No way, Hiru. You keep giving me these darned trick questions, and I keep falling for them. No way."

"Well. But doesn't everything I subject you to make you laugh?"

Muffled grumbles. "Maybe too much."

Hiru giggled, his high-pitched voice a boyish contrast to the rich, husky tones of the redhead's. "Just answer it. You haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm not going to pass you your lunch until you say it. Are you hungry, or not?"

An exasperated mumble and what sounded like a determined attempt to breathe. "All right, fine. Yes, I'm hungry."

The make-up artist giggled again. "Hello, Hungry."

_Gah! Lame, Hiru, lame!_ Houjun rolled his eyes. Amusement filled him. There were times when the young, extremely bubbly Hiru amazed him with the apparently inexhaustible ability to crank up corny jokes and utterly useless riddles.

"Why, you—"

After what seemed like an eternity of brushes flying out through the open door, outraged squeals, and the sounds of thudding on the walls, Houjun had had enough. He reached out and twisted the doorknob.

Immediately, both artist and model froze in a tableau. Hiru brandished a large, fluffy brush from which particles of shimmering dust flaked down, and Leika wielded two ridiculously large, pink powder puffs in front of herself. 

"Are we ready?" Houjun asked calmly. He eyed the both of them, and Hiru shifted uncomfortably, lowering his weapon and casting his gaze to the ground. Leika, already flushed from the 'battle', turned even redder as she nodded.

Satisfied that the reminder had been effective, Houjun turned to go, and that was when he saw, in the reflection of the mirror outside the room on the opposite wall.

She was staring after him, her arms crossed over her chest. Staring _at_ him. 

It was a look that seemed almost hungry.

*End of Flashback

Houjun banished the thoughts. He had no right to be letting his mind wander like that.

"Are you joining the national competition?" he asked instead, automatically latching onto the next plausible subject. 

She blinked at him, and then nodded. "I…I signed up for it the other day. With Yui."

This time, he didn't try to hide the laugh. "Yui? Yui Hongo? When did you meet her? Or should I say, when did she ambush you?"

@@@

Genrou had almost forgotten how the photographer could make him feel. Warm, relaxed, comfortable and happy. Sitting like they were doing now, just talking about simple, ordinary things that somehow had a way of making Genrou feel good. The cheer in Houjun's voice alone seemed special, as did the natural, laughing smiles that came along with the package. 

Unnoticed, the conversation had slipped to a more personal level. Genrou couldn't believe he was discussing the previous, disastrous job at Kouji's friend's restaurant, let alone joking about it, but Houjun's chuckles made the story worthwhile. 

"…you mean you just flipped the plate on him?"

He sniffed mock-angrily and looked down at his hands. "I did no such thing. It was an accident, I'm telling you!"

"Right. Of course."

Genrou tossed his head and glanced up, opening his mouth to continue defending himself, when their eyes met. Unconsciously, he shivered at the play of emotions in cinnamon depths, mirth mixed in with seriousness, wonder and—dared Genrou think it?—affection. He suddenly realized how he must seem to Houjun, and shut his mouth with an abrupt snap as he turned away.

Why did he always make a fool of himself in front of the photographer? His heart ached so badly for it to be otherwise; he wanted to be charming, gently insisting, careful and guarded all at once. 

Everything he had determined, making friends with Houjun, giving himself a chance, everything faded away into the sparkle of Houjun's eyes, the sound of Houjun's laughter. Despite everything he knew, catching Tomo and Houjun together, knowing Houjun was older and far better than he could ever hope to be, nothing seemed to be able to stop the wild, tidal rush of feelings that rose in him whenever he was with him.

Genrou couldn't handle this. It was too sudden, too soon, and too deep for him to even begin to wish he could make sense of it.

_Not to mention the fucking lies that I've been telling. The fucking lie that I'm living. _

"I'd better go," he mumbled, ashamed of his mental gaffe and very much aware of the silence that hung between them. "You…you'll need your rest."

He fumbled behind him for his handbag and prepared to rise, when a warm hand caught his wrist and stilled him.


	25. 23: Dust bunnies and pewter balls

Chapter Twenty Three

"I'm sorry."

Genrou's throat tightened, and he tried to brush it off with a chuckle. "It's not you, Houjun." Even to himself, the laugh sounded forced.

Houjun's gaze was locked onto his. "I made you uncomfortable."

On the contrary, the warmth of the photographer's hand was very comfortable indeed. Too comfortable, and increasingly addictive. Genrou wrenched his wrist away and stood up. 

"No, you didn't. There's just some things I need to work out on my own."

Curiosity crossed Houjun's face. "Problems? Anything you'd like to talk about? Maybe I could help."

The sincere query flooded Genrou with conflicting emotions. 

"Take care, Houjun," he said quietly, bowing his head slightly so that the curtain of his hair would cover his eyes. "I'll see you…at the competition?"

Houjun smiled. "Sounds like a date."

@@@

As Genrou left the hospital wing, he rounded the corner and saw, to his chagrin, the two models lounging leisurely on the garish orange chairs and sipping cups of steaming coffee. They sat in companionable silence, and seemed to be deep in thought. Saihitei caught sight of Genrou first.

"Leika-chan!" he called out, polishing off the last of his drink and turning to toss the empty Styrofoam container into the bin behind, before rising to his feet. Nuriko turned to look at Genrou, a cheeky smile breaking out on his face as he, likewise, finished his drink and stood.

Genrou paused, unsure of what to do next. Inexplicably, he felt like a trapped hound, caught between Nuriko's friendly, well-meaning intentions and his own webs of deceit. Before he could make the decision to turn around, however, Saihitei had come forward to him.

"How is Houjun now?"

Nuriko bounded up behind Saihitei, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "Yes, Leika-chan. How _is_ Houjun now?"

Genrou prayed that the blush wasn't going to become a permanent fixture. "He seems well. Tired, but okay."

Nuriko snorted ungracefully, curving an arm casually around Saihitei's shoulders as he leaned forward. "So, you guys didn't talk about anything else?"

He fought the urge to curse as embarrassment bubbled over him. "No, we didn't. Just the national competition."

"Oh," Nuriko fell silent, his mouth working in thought. "Did you ask him out?"

"Nuriko!" Saihitei jabbed the other model's hip in consternation. "Whatever happened to 'letting nature take its course'?"

Genrou cleared his throat. "I—"

"Yes?" both men stopped mid-argument and turned expectantly to him.

"I'd really prefer it if you left this alone."

@@@

Saihitei combed the mahogany locks with his fingers before grabbing a strand of what looked like a split-end and examining it. Nuriko's eyes trailed after the departing redhead and his slim shoulders slumped.

"Did I just blow it, Sai?"

Before his friend could formulate a reply to the obviously distressed query, Nuriko spoke again, quietly. "It's just that Houjun's always alone. And I can't help thinking that they would be good for each other. Have you seen how he makes her look in those pictures?"

"Well, Nuri…she _is_ beautiful on her own basis," Saihitei hedged.

"Do you think she's mad at me?"

Saihitei coughed. "Well—"

Nuriko brushed it off, sighing as he contemplated further. "Houjun won't make a move. Leika-chan likes him, I _know_ she does. They're so stubborn, and nothing is going to come out of this unless…"

Saihitei waited, but when no other information was forthcoming, he raised an eyebrow and prodded Nuriko's arm gently. "Unless what?"

The younger man grinned. "Unless I help them."

Saihitei groaned. "Nuri! What was that about you making a mess out of things? Leika told you to stay out of her business just a few seconds ago!"

"Yes, she did, didn't she?" A shrug, and then a chuckle, from the younger man as he tossed his violet hair back.

Saihitei swatted his friend on the head. "You're hopeless."

@@@

Doukun whistled, envelopes of bills tucked under his arm as he unlocked the doors to the studio. Mentally, he went over what he had to finish today. Reports of trends in the fashion market, noting of the invitations to the usual designer events, perusals of the memberships of the agency…

He flicked on the yellow lights, walking towards his desk and setting the envelopes down. As his arm moved back, he accidentally brushed against the pewter display that sat on the corner of the table. It fell with a heavy clatter, the pewter balls rolling away merrily to the various corners of the room.

Swearing under his breath, Doukun exhaled and then bent to retrieve the errant stand first. After placing it back where it belonged, he got down on all fours, searching and groping in the dim surroundings for the other pieces.

_I really need to talk to Dad about redoing the entire lighting system._

One ball…two…three…an army of dust bunnies…

Where was the last one? Blowing his hair out of his eyes, he stood, gingerly rubbing his knees as the pressure shifted. Carefully, he replaced the three metal studs in their grooves, and then turned around, scanning the ground for the fourth ball.

A glint from the far end of the room caught his eye, and he walked forward, dropping to a crouch before the small side table and reaching for the object. His fingers brushed against soft leather, and he pursed his lips, the ball momentarily forgotten as his hand closed around the unexpected find instead. He hefted it in his palm and brought it out, straining to see clearly.

It was a wallet. Who would've dropped their wallet and not noticed? Doukun's frown deepened, and he flipped open the leather case, hoping to see some form of identification. However, the wallet was close to empty, other than a few worn bills in the note-pocket and a faded, blue calling card.

He stooped lower, bending his head and finally seeing the rest of the scattered cards. Clucking under his breath, he swept the lot of items out from under the table, trying to ignore the sheer amount of dust that had built up over the months and that was now currently finding a new home on the back of his hand. How long had it been since they cleared the place out? He would have to see about hiring a cleaning lady.

"Now, let's have a look…" he ran his tongue over his teeth, flipping through what looked like random membership cards, name cards from stores he had never heard of, and, bingo, an ID pass. He turned it around, standing absentmindedly and squinting at the name, before his eyes moved to the corresponding picture. _So familiar…_

Doukun nearly bit his tongue off.

@@@

Standing by the roadside as he waited for his bus to come, fishing in his bag for his wallet, Genrou had never felt such turbulent confusion. Amidst the agony of fretting, he finally decided on a course of action.

_I need to fucking tell somebody. _

But whom could he go to? Genrou sincerely wished that there were someone—anyone—who would not be affected by his particular revelation. Which contradicted everything, because wasn't the purpose of admitting that he was, in truth, a guy, be to finally stop telling lies to the people who mattered and who were involved in his charade?

The bus drew up to the curb, and people scuttled past him to get to the door. Only then did Genrou realize that his wallet was missing.

_Oh fuuuuuuck. Just what I need right now._

Where could he have dropped it? The bag had been with him at all times, and he didn't think the wallet could have hopped out on its own. Had he dropped the bag? Gotten pushed—?

__

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT!!!!


	26. 24: Scream

****

Chapter Twenty Four

Heartbeat drowned out the dull slap of his sneakers against the asphalt as Genrou ran, ungracefully hiking the skirt up to his knees and pushing roughly past the midday lunch crowd milling outside the entrance to the food court that flanked the shopping center. Perspiration trickled down the sides of his face, making Miaka's blouse stick uncomfortably to his back and under his arms. He took to the escalator three steps at a time, bounding past a watchful lollipop-sucking toddler clutching on to her grandmother, two well-dressed businesswomen chatting and laughing, and a diminutive, black-haired teenager with a skateboard tucked under his arm.

"How could I have been so careless?" he asked aloud in despair, clamping down on the urge to rip the offending denim away from his legs so that he could move faster. "How could I have been so _goddamned_ careless?" 

It had been half an hour since he had discovered the loss of his wallet. An entire thirty minute-span in which he had hailed a cab, gotten caught in a traffic jam, fielded a call (and an ensuing lecture) from Miaka and knocked over an ice-cream vendor in his destructive haste. Anything could have happened in half an hour. Nuriko could have gone back to the studio. The boss—what was his name again? Don Juan?—could have gone back to the studio. Hell, _Yui_ could have gone to the studio! 

_Calm down,_ he reassured himself, dodging a group of casual shoppers and turning left down the corridor where the studio was located. _What are the chances that anyone would have found it? It's a fucking weekend!_ Yes, he was being paranoid as usual.

From where he was, about three stores away, Genrou could see that the studio was dark. His heart lifted and sang in relief as he trotted the remaining few feet and reached out to push open the door. There was nobody there after all! He was home free! Now all he had to do was to get his wallet and then he could be off—

The door was locked.

****

@@@

"That wasn't very nice of you," Houjun remarked neutrally, his eyes closed, one hand dangling idly over the side of the bed.

Nuriko peered critically at his friend, and was about to voice disagreement when Saihitei clapped a hand over the violet-haired man's mouth and took over, phrasing his best friend's response in more diplomatic terms. "Come on, Houjun. You like that girl!"

Houjun raised an eyebrow, but did not deign to comment. 

"She really likes you too," Saihitei added, almost as an afterthought. Nuriko nodded furiously, his words coming out as muffled jargon behind the brunette's hand. "It's a match made in Heaven!"

A pause, and then a dry retort, "Neither of you look like angels to me."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Houjun," Nuriko finally fought free of Saihitei's hand, bouncing easily onto the free space on the bed and poking the photographer hard in the shoulder. "She's the lady! She's shy! She can't possibly make the first move!"

"Maybe you've mistaken her feelings. For God's sake, Nuri, she's just a friend who came to visit. And didn't you tell me five seconds ago that she didn't want any help from you when you broached this…topic to her?"

"Did I say that? No, of course I didn't! She didn't say that at all!"

"Merely implied it," Saihitei finished helpfully.

Houjun sighed.

****

@@@

He stared, flabbergasted, at the doorknob. Tentatively tried it again, twisting it carefully, hopefully. It didn't give.

_No lights…which means nobody's in…which means…which means…_

Genrou deflated like a punctured balloon.

"My fucking brains have taken a vacation," he muttered sourly, still shaken up with disbelief at the sheer idiocy of the situation. "Goodbye, luck. Hello, stupid."

He had to get in somehow. The wallet was probably just sitting there, untouched, somewhere near the area he'd been knocked down earlier. It contained everything that would sound his death knell.

Or he could wait. Wait until tomorrow, which was the next working day. Somebody would be there, and if he hadn't seen the wallet when he was picking his things up earlier, it had to have fallen in an unobtrusive place. 

_Which means no one might see it till I get here. It could work._

But that was leaving an unhealthy dose of temptation for fate, wasn't it? No, he had to find some way to get in, _now_. 

Could he pick the lock? Genrou didn't think he had seen any alarms set in the studio, but then again, he hadn't really been paying attention. Did security have a camera fixed on this corridor? 

****

@@@

"Look, this kind of thing only gets worse if too many people meddle with it."

"Ah, don't tell me you believe that 'too-many-cooks-spoil-the-broth' nonsense, Jun."

Houjun leveled a _look_ at the flippant model. "As a matter of fact—"

"You see, Sai?" Nuriko threw up his hands in frustration. "I _told_ you Jun wouldn't go for it, but you insisted on talking to him first. I _told_ you he wasn't going to get off his lazy bum for dessert if it were placed in front of him. I _told_ you—"

"—Now wait just one minute. Are the both of you planning something? Please tell me my worst fears are unfounded—"

"—_told_ you he was a scared, good-for-nothing—"

"I like to call it caution—"

"—we should have just done it _my_ way and set them up for a dinner date—"

"—what?! Of all the childish things to—"

The door opened a fraction, and a short, plump, scowling Indian nurse poked her head in, disapproval evident in the glare behind her thick, purple-rimmed cat-shaped glasses. "Is there a problem, boys?"

The argument ceased midway as both guilty parties froze. 

Mutely, Saihitei shook his head. 

****

@@@

Maybe he should start a fire. Surely that wouldn't be so hard? He had a lighter in his bag, and certainly something around here was flammable. Would the doors open if there were smoke?

_Oh man. This is going bloody nowhere!_

He fumbled in his purse for his cell phone, hoping against hope that his twin would have a better suggestion. Somehow, Genrou doubted that that any of his reckless plans would work.

"You."

His stomach lurched into the pits of his feet. He spun around, ignoring the screaming little voice in his head that told him his Maker had come, and met Doukun's accusing stare.

The younger man held red plastic bags of food packets and drinks, and it was obvious that he'd bought back lunch for more than one. Slowly, Doukun shifted the strings of steaming cups to his other hand, and then reached into his pocket.

His movement seemed agonizingly slow as Genrou watched, his nerve crumbling with every second, all thought and word abandoning him as Doukun's fingers deliberately, languidly closed in around, and brought out, an all-too familiar object.

_He found the wallet._

Genrou's throat went dry, and his palms began to sweat. Had Doukun looked into it? Had the photographer seen anything incriminating? A nervous laugh burst from his throat as he stood there, rooted to the spot and growing increasingly panicky under the other man's shrewd gaze.

Doukun tossed the wallet to him. Time seemed to slow down as Genrou followed the arc with his eyes. Rising…higher into the air…curving down…he held out his hands just in time. The worn leather contacted his palms with a faint thud.

Another look at Doukun's expression, and Genrou knew that he knew.

****

@@@

Miaka stood, just narrowly missing beheading herself, and jabbed frantically at the bell. When she had called her brother to check on his progress, a missing wallet had been the last thing that she had expected. Genrou had said he was going back to the studio to get it back, but she was still worried. Which was why she was here on a crowded bus, on a nice Sunday afternoon, heading back to the studio to make sure Genrou kept himself out of trouble. 

_Stupid, careless Genrou. Dumb, dumb Genrou._ The grumble in her mind had blossomed into a full-fledged litany. She wrestled out of her narrow window seat, sidestepping the aisle passenger and treading hard onto the foot of a standing man as the bus swerved past the intersection onto the main junction. 

_Oops._

The terse apology died on her lips when she looked up into the face of her victim. Her knees buckled and she would've swooned had she the space. Given the limitations of her surroundings however, only her jaw dropped open, and stayed open.

He was tall and dark-skinned, with chin-length, wavy hair so black that it appeared blue-green. His lips were turned up in an amused smile. She noted belatedly his scruffy, black leather jacket, the hint of a faded tattoo peeking above the neckline of his loose tank top, and fought not to let her gaze wander down to what looked like long, leather-jeans-encased legs. Silver dog tags tied together with a rubber band hung around his neck.

"Ouch," he said, grinning rakishly at her. "No hurry. I'm getting off at the next stop too." His voice had the husky baritone of youth. 

Miaka melted.

Two minutes later, they stood side by side at the bus stop, neither saying a word.

__

Hmm…I wonder what cologne he uses? I'll have to ask Genrou to get some of those. But wait, Genrou's pretending to be a girl right now, so that's a big no-no. I wonder how tall this guy is? 

And crap, when is he going to say something? 

The silence was just beginning to become discomforting to her, when the Mystery Good-Looker turned gingerly and offered a sheepish laugh.

__

I wonder if Genrou has found the wallet…? We're going to have such big trouble if he doesn't…

"I was supposed to be meeting someone around now, but it's really hot today. Want to get some ice cream?"

__

To hell with the wallet. I'm sure Genrou will take care of it.

"That sounds perfect."

He smiled when she did, and gave a mock-bow towards the nearby ice-cream vendor. "Come on then. Oh yeah…my name's Taka. What's yours?"

****

@@@

They stared at each other; Doukun wordless and Genrou too scared to say anything. Then the younger man lifted the bags in a gesture and made to move forward. "I'm sure you can engage yourself in your statue aspirations on your own. Meanwhile, I have work to do, so I'll appreciate it if you excuse me."

The cold, curt tone of the words galvanized Genrou. "Wait," he tried helplessly, lifting his arm to bar Doukun from walking past him. "Just…just wait. Please."

Doukun gave him a blank look. "Whatever for?"

A dozen apologies and excuses sprang to Genrou's lips, but he gulped them down, fighting the rise of desperation and defeat. "Are you—are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry, _Tasu Leika_?" the sarcasm dripped from Doukun's words like artificially sweetened honey, pooling around the last four syllables. 

Genrou swallowed hard. "Are you mad now that you know…now that you know…"

"Now that I know _what_?" Doukun annunciated slowly.

"AreyoumadnowthatyouknowI'maguy?" the whisper came out fast and jumbled as Genrou bowed his head, his gaze sinking timidly and miserably to the floor.

Doukun cleared his throat but remained silent.

****

@@@

Myou Juan cruised into the car park, whistling under his breath as the Beach Boys blared on the radio. Thank goodness he had season parking as an employer here; the lots were always jam-packed on weekends. 

"I hope he's on time," he murmured to himself, steering towards the reserved parking space. Taka had a tendency to be late. 

****

@@@

"Please don't ignore me," Genrou knew he was babbling, but since his time had come, he figured he might as well throw out all limb and fortune while he was at it, right? "Say something!"

_One Titanic…two Titanic…three Titanic…noooooo, please let him taaaalk to meee….four Titanic…_

Doukun exploded.

"AM I MAD? AM. I. MAD?! YOU BET THE HELL I'M MAD AT YOU! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A LIAR! YOU'RE A…YOU'RE A…" and here even words failed the furious photographer, who settled for shaking his head sharply and regarding Genrou like a diseased thing. 

"I'm really, really sorry!" Genrou backed away, holding his hands out in front of him like a shield. "I'm really, really sorry," he repeated for good measure.

"WHY did you do it? Was it to make a fool out of me? What the heck are you trying to prove by playing a stupid game like that? Do you know what you've done? Everyone out there could sue! Sue for millions! There _is_ no Tasu Leika! You're a cheat! A fraud! I can't believe that anyone would _do_ something like this and get away with it for so long!"

Genrou winced. 

"Does everyone know except me?! What, is this the new Candid Camera? Who do you think you are to come along and mess everything up like this?! Ken Barbie? And you never said anything, even when I asked you out! All those magazine shoots and pictorials, and no one ever guessed! You're a deceitful, lying creep, Kou Genrou!"

There it was, all out in the open.


	27. 25: Deal

****

Chapter Twenty Five

Genrou was sincerely grateful for the relative emptiness of the corridor, which had cleared out the moment Doukun started shouting. He had seen the little Japanese tourists scuttling past out of the corner of his eye, about two seconds into Doukun's rant.

"All those pretty clothes! All that make-up! What are you, some crazy queer?!"

_I don't think I'm supposed to answer that._

Finally…finally…Doukun ran out of steam. But the withering glare never wavered, even as the photographer abruptly shut up and crossed his arms.

"Can I…talk?" Genrou tested the waters timidly.

"You mean you've still got something to say for yourself?"

It was do and die, or don't do and die. "I am so sorry, Doukun. Really. I mean, really, really fuc—erm, just really sorry."

"You should be," came the sullen retort.

Frustrated, Genrou barely resisted the sudden urge to whack Doukun hard on the head and strangle him. "At least let me explain!"

Doukun eyed him dubiously, but thankfully chose not to add comment. 

"Before I start, I have something bloody important I need to ask of you," Genrou rushed out, and berated himself inwardly. Why were all the swear words and vulgarities coming out now? Now, of all rotten timing? He had done fine enough as Tasu Leika.

Oh, right. Doukun knew. So he didn't have to pretend, did he?

"No," Doukun announced in a clipped, tight tone.

"I haven't even asked you."

"Cliched as this may sound, sir, the answer is still no."

Genrou scowled. "Why are you being such a disagreeable ass?"

"Ho, ho, ho. Flaunting the true linguistic abilities now?"

"Just listen to me!"

"No."

"You're still pissed off about me, for crying out loud?"

"No."

"Are you even a freaking man?"

"N—" Doukun clamped his mouth shut and shot a vicious look at Genrou. 

Genrou sighed heavily, reaching up and running both hands through his hair. "Can we just fucking look at the facts?"

"Who let the sheep in? The wool seems to be pulled too tightly over my eyes."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Genrou barreled ahead. "Do you think I'm good-looking?"

Doukun paused mid-opening of mouth to give Genrou a horrified, accusatory stare. "I'm not gay!"

"I didn't say you were. Facts, Doukun, just the damn facts now, okay?"

Another suspicious look, before a very grudging, "…I suppose I've seen worse."

Aha. He was getting somewhere.

"Would I have the potential to make it big, with what experience I've acquired so far, if I presented myself as a…uh…man, instead?"

Genrou could practically hear the gears clanking inside Doukun's head. "I…suppose…you might."

"Which means the same opportunities would be presented to me, all possibilities considered, right? Which also means that the photographer who has legal copyrights to my first portfolio would be showcased in a bloody good way, right?" What was the nice, big word, Miaka had used before? Flatterer? Or was it flattener?

"It would be a logical conclusion, yes. So?"

Genrou gritted his teeth. Doukun was being deliberately obtuse. Would he need to outright spell it out?

He tried again. "Look, Doukun, I'm fucking—" damn, this was stooping so low, "—fucking begging you, okay?"

"You don't want me to tell anyone. And you're offering me the chance to make it big using you as a male model?" Doukun peered at him through narrow slits for eyes. "That doesn't make much sense to me."

"I've entered for the bloody national competition!" Genrou burst out. "As Tasu Leika," he finished miserably in a frantic whisper. "I can't damn well let everyone know, and if I withdraw from this, they'll definitely fucking find out, okay? Do you want a model alive and well, or in bloody jail? I suppose the fucking prison bars would make interesting décor, but…wait…that's not the point!" He clamped his mouth shut, adrenaline and desperation warring inside him. It was giving him a headache.

Doukun gave him a speculative once-over, and then exhaled noisily, before unceremoniously dumping all the food and drinks he was carrying into Genrou's arms and waltzing past the redhead, fumbling in his pocket. In a few moments, his hand came up with a bunch of keys, and he presented them in mock-salute with a flourish and a jingle. 

"Let's go inside. We'll talk more about this."

****

@@@

In his wildest nightmares, Myou Juan had never imagined this. It was such a deceitful, terrible, unethical thing to have happened to him. Things should never have come to this. He slammed his head against the wheel, muttering under his breath, and glaring daggers at the enemy.

In his reserved car park space, a bright red convertible gleamed, seeming to gloat at him from its throne between the two, marked out, bold black lines. 

Myou Juan was going to complain to every single security guard in the block, if it was the last thing he did. He had paid for season parking, so that he could expect a lot whenever he wanted to come and do his work! He had forked out ninety-five dollars so that he could have this special spot! And he was doing business! He shouldn't have to be kept waiting, or made to drive around the entire car park like some loony looking for a lot!

Now where was he going to park?

****

@@@

"Stop fidgeting."

Genrou reluctantly ceased his tugging on a loose thread spiraling out from the seat of the old couch, and fixed his limbs. "I don't see how this helps anything," he grumbled under his breath, shooting dirty looks at Doukun under lowered lids as the photographer moved around him, snapping Polaroid pictures at an alarmingly quick speed. 

Why had he agreed to this? Because Doukun had said to pose for some test shots, and then he would consider Genrou's request. He hadn't had much of a choice but to go along. He couldn't have anyone finding out…

Genrou winced, despite a Herculean effort of trying to keep his face blank. Houjun. 

He couldn't have Houjun finding out. It would wreck everything their friendship, professional or not, stood for.

"Please. I know the glum look is in these days, but you look like you're about to bawl."

"This is a fucking bad situation for me," Genrou snapped before he could stop himself. "I can't help it, okay?" He settled for staring hard at the loose thread, wondering absentmindedly if he could set it on fire if he glared at it long enough.

_Heh. I'm a freaking closet pyromaniac. _

Doukun shrugged, and shot a warning glance at him before bringing the camera up again. "I'd just like you to remember that you aren't exactly the only victim of this laughable tragedy."

****

@@@

"Very few people like banana and pineapple flavor," Taka remarked, smiling down at her. "That's a very unique combination."

She laughed, blushing to the tips of her toes. "Unlike red bean, right?"

Taka grinned, flashing his red bean ice cream stick. "Yup."

Miaka scooped out another spoonful of the green and yellow concoction, plopping it into her mouth and savoring the taste, before turning her attention back to her new acquaintance. "So, what do you do?"

His grin got wider. "I'm a model. With Capri Studios."

She spat her mouthful of ice cream out.

****

@@@

They sat there beside each other, on the couch, neither one looking at each other. Doukun was systematically looking through the shots he had taken, and then filing them neatly into a clear folder one by one while Genrou looked on and pretended nonchalantly that he wasn't about to burst with apprehensiveness.

Minutes passed. 

Doukun examined the last photograph critically, as Genrou peered unobtrusively over his shoulder. In the photo, Genrou had turned at an angle, looking downwards (presumably at the errant thread on the couch), and his shirt had fallen open slightly. His flame-red hair, the victim of frustration and countless pulling, appeared almost artfully disheveled. He had probably glanced up at the exact moment Doukun snapped the shot; the baleful, reproachful look on his face captured in the photograph said it all. 

Doukun carefully printed, with a black marker, a bold number '15' on the top right hand corner of the picture, before filing it away. Genrou unconsciously began chewing on his lower lip.

_Please let him say yes,_ he prayed silently, chanting it over and over like a mantra in his head. _Please let him say yes. Please let him say yes._

"Fine."

_Please let him say yes._

"Hello? Earth to Tas—Genrou?"

_Please oh please oh fucking please…_ "What?"

"I won't tell anyone till the national competition is over. And then I get the exclusives. It's a deal." Doukun was speaking very slowly, as though he were conversing with an idiot.

On deeper reflection, Genrou figured he could probably forgive the older man for that hinted transgression. 

"Thank you," he breathed, shock and gratitude temporarily overcoming ability of speech. "I didn't think you really fucking would—I didn't think you would—"

Doukun looked as though he couldn't decide whether to smile or to scowl.

_That's it, Genrou. Keep going, and you'll make a bigger fool of yourself than you thought humanly possible._ On an impulse, he threw himself at Doukun and gave the other man a bear hug, unheeding of Doukun's squirms and muttered protests.

A phone rang, shrill and loud.

****

@@@

Houjun waited a few more moments, then sighed and lifted the cell phone away from his ear, flipping it shut. Nuriko and Saihitei had left a mere minute ago. He had noticed the glower on Nuriko's face; he wondered if he'd been too harsh earlier, and felt immediately guilty for no logical reason. It was his life, after all, wasn't it? 

No one should have to be interfering.

He had just gotten Yui's message, a very mysterious, clipped "Call me. Have important news." However, this was his third try, and the connection still wasn't going through. Yui had to be dialing and contacting others at superhuman speed from her office desk, and unluckily for Houjun, he couldn't remember her hand-phone number. He sighed, and put the phone away. He would simply just have to wait until she called him.

He would be discharged tomorrow. Eight days to his next big assignment, which was the national photographic modeling competition. He missed the feel of his camera already.

The door burst open with a loud bang.

"Houjun! Houjun, honey, are you here?"

He froze in the act of withdrawing his hand from the table where he had just set his cell phone down and blinked stupidly, unable to believe his eyes. 

"Mother?"

****

@@@

They stared at each other, Genrou in horrified realization that he wasn't supposed to be here, like this, and Doukun in bewilderment at the sudden interruption. Doukun reacted first; scrambling up to reach the phone as it vibrated merrily on the desktop. He reached it, swung out for the handset, and answered with the remarkable composure that belied the rattled look in his eyes,

"Good afternoon, Capri Studios."

****

@@@

"Doukun!" Myou Juan hollered into the phone as he tried to stare down the driver of the minivan who was currently engaged with him in a battle of wills for the would-be free lot, "Doukun?"

His son sounded strangely breathless. "Dad? It's really noisy back there—"

Myou Juan honked; resisting the urge to scream as the minivan driver put the hazard lights on, signaling the intention to park. The young woman who was about to open the door to her shiny black Toyota paused and looked inquiring at the both of them.

"Doukun, can you hear me? Get the documents ready! The ones for Taka about his new contract with Fitme Jeans!"

More crackling, and static. "Dad? You've got to speak louder. Where are you?"

Myou Juan narrowed his eyes, glaring fire and ice at the minivan driver, who raised both eyebrows back at him impudently. "Yes, yes," he continued distractedly, ready to zoom into the lot the moment the black Toyota backed out and silently daring the other driver to challenge his claim. "I'll be there any moment. I'm in the car park."

****

@@@

Doukun dropped the phone, and turned to regard Genrou with alarm and urgency in his eyes. 

"Get out of here," he whispered, "Dad's downstairs."

****

@@@

Taka glanced concernedly at Miaka, who was spluttering helplessly into her cup. "Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she rasped out.

He shot a quick look at his watch, and gasped in surprise. "Oh no! I'm really late! Myou Juan's going to fry my ass! I've got to go, Miaka."

"No!" her hands shot out and clawed onto his jacket. "You can't go up now!"

Taka blinked at her, wondering if he had made a mistake and if this girl was one of those stalker types. Maybe he shouldn't have told her that he modeled? But she seemed nice enough, that was for sure, besides being…well, rather cute really. "Listen, just give me your number. I'll definitely keep in touch."

Genrou was still up there!

She laughed weakly, grasping frantically at loose straws. "I…I don't have paper! Can you wait a moment while I find paper? And a pen!"

"Weeeell—"

"I'll be right back! Promise! Stay right there, okay? Don't move!"

He stared after her, bemused, and scratched his head as she bulldozed a path into the shopping center. 

_She must really like me._


	28. 26: The ravings of a besotted teenager

****

Chapter Twenty Six

Doukun seized the wallet from the table and threw it at Genrou, scrambling up and looking around frantically for his briefcase, while Genrou sat there frozen. As the younger man jumped over the couch and made a beeline for the row of desks along the side of the room, he shot a dirty glance back at the redhead. "Don't just sit there! Get up quick! You have to leave!"

Genrou, galvanized, leapt to his feet.

The photographer came back, flew over the couch again, and scooped up the pile of Polaroids, racing around and dumping the lot into an open drawer, before hastily slamming it shut and sticking a key in the lock. Before Genrou could move, Doukun was behind him, hustling him out.

"Get out! Get out!"

"I _know_!" Genrou gritted out, stuffing his wallet into the back pocket of the skirt and shaking Doukun's hands off him. "Wait, wait! Are you going to call me about it? After the competition, I mean? Or what?"

Doukun glared at him witheringly. "This is no time to be asking questions and making plans! I'll keep in touch!"

"You _will_ keep your promise, right?" 

The younger man gave a scream of frustration. "What promise?"

Genrou's eyes widened with accusation. "Your promise not to tell!"

"Oh, that. Yes, yes, I promise. Now _leave_!"

They spun as one, in horror, the tinkling of the bells hung above the door sounding much louder than it probably really was. The doorknob twisted. 

__

Oh my fucking god…

As if in slow motion, the door began to open. 

"Genrou!" a decidedly female voice screeched, as the door slammed open. "Genrou?"

_Miaka._ His relief had never been so absolute. _Miaka, Miaka, it's only Miaka—_

Doukun was staring at Miaka with undisguised fear and suspicion. "Who are _you_?"

"We've got to go!" she just about screamed, completely ignoring Doukun. "Someone's coming up!"

"I know! The boss of the studio!"

Miaka froze mid-panic, and gaped at him. "Is _he_ now?"

Doukun growled and flung up his hands in despair. "You don't have time! Out! Out!" 

Genrou swiftly made sure he had all his things, before rushing forward, shoving Miaka ahead of him. "She's my sister," he threw behind him as an afterthought, as the door closed and he all but dragged Miaka along with him. _Left, right, front…where's he going to come from?_ Hastily, he made a decision, and veered to the right. He slammed the swinging doors open, and retreated with admirable speed into the side corridor which led to the washrooms. "Shhh," he hissed unnecessarily.

Miaka glared at him from between his fingers, which were tightly covering her face, and considered biting her twin brother. "Deed nyoo getch yor warret? Beccher nort roose it agaihn!"

He nodded distractedly, wondering if there was a stairwell anywhere. Was it too late to make a run for the escalators? He got up cautiously, and released Miaka, walking with timid steps towards the door…

And nearly fainted, accidentally trampling hard on his sister as he fell back, because not three feet away and separated only by a dusty plastic window in a door, Myou Juan strode past, blissfully unaware of the new temporary residents of the corridor.

_Oh god, oh god…we…I…we…we fucking made it!_

****

@@@

"Honey! Are you all right? Oh my goodness! You have a bandage around your head!"

Houjun gasped for breath, and flailed in vain, under the onslaught of parent. "Mom! How—why—what are you doing here?"

"Why, I took a plane of course, my dear. Your father is with Hikou. My poor children!"

He took a deep breath, and then gently guided his mother to the chair by the bed. "Mom…mom…sit down. You're overwrought. I'm fine. The doctor says I can be discharged by tomorrow."

Her worried face instantly relaxed in relief. "That's wonderful, honey!" She reached out to grab his hand, and proceeded to pat it comfortingly. Then she stopped. And turned a narrowed, mock fierce glare on him. "Why didn't you look after Hikou?!"

_Oh no…_

"I…I…" he started off weakly, not knowing what to say. It did sound rather irresponsible to say you had been neglecting your brother for the sake of work, didn't it? The guilt returned in full force, and so did his headache.

Mrs. Ri noticed the change immediately, and bustled to reassure her elder son. "I'm not saying it's your fault, Houjun, honey! I was just…well, joking with you! Nobody, not even your father and I, have managed to control Hikou since he was a child! But anyway, I'm sure Hikou will be just fine. The doctor says he has a very high chance of recovery once he wakes up!"

Houjun blinked away his discomfort and shame, and swallowed the lump in his throat. _I'm such a terrible brother…_ "Of course," he said thickly.

"But anyway, the reason we decided to come back as fast as we could was not because we didn't trust you to take care of Hikou. You know your mother…I was so worried I couldn't eat or sleep! Your father, though, wanted us to be back so that you could concentrate on your work. You have a very important event coming up soon, don't you?"

"No!" he practically shouted, not registering the surprise on his mother's face. "No," he repeated, slightly more calmly, "I want to look after Hikou too. You were right. I haven't been taking care of him. That's why he was speeding on the highway, and that's why he got into the accident. I don't even know what he's been up to, and I should have taken more effort to know, especially since you and Dad were away—"

She quieted him with a gentle hand. "Honey…look who's overwrought! I think, my dear, it is precisely because you stayed up so many nights to watch over Hikou, that you fell sick yourself. Let your father and I take over from here. It's been hard on you. And we know you have other responsibilities which you shouldn't be evading once you get well, should you?"

He didn't know what to say, and he cursed himself. His mother was right. By taking leave now, he would be abandoning one duty for another. "No…I shouldn't."

"That's my boy," she rose and gave him a huge, bear hug. "Stop feeling guilty, sweetheart. That's my job. You go ahead and do what you're supposed to do, and do it well, you hear me? That's where your responsibility lies now. And I'm not saying you can't drop by every day."

Houjun managed a smile, leaning into the reassuring warmth and comfort of the embrace. "Thanks, Mom," he whispered.

He would pour all of his energy into the upcoming competition. Then he would ask Myou Juan, and his other contract agencies, for a much-needed break, leave from work for a while, and spend more time with his family. He owed everything to them, and he knew he'd been neglecting not just Hikou, but his parents as well, ever since he had started getting busier and busier. He promised himself silently that he would never be so absorbed in his career again. 

****

@@@

****

[One week later]

__

March 5, 2002

Dear fucking journal,

It's one day before the competition. I'm scared shitless, and I feel like quitting the whole barfing thing. So much has happened since I made that deal with Doukun, and…argh, I'm just getting edgier and bloody more worried every time I even fucking think about what could happen.

Miaka is such a two-face. She's worried as hell about me, and I know because she brought me apple pie when I went straight up to my room after dinner. Heh. What a great sis. She promised to go with me tomorrow, and I figure the worse that happens if I really, like, uh, chicken out, is to…well…make her take my place instead. Who the fuck is going to figure it out?

Well. He would. I am such a freaking loser. I have a crush on a man who already has his man. I mean, hey, he's gay so I should have a chance right? I'll never fucking admit this to anyone…but I swear from what I remember of that other dude is that he's bloody gorgeous. I mean…shit, have you ever seen anyone pull off hair that long in plaits? 'Course, I'm still devoted to my—ugh, he's not mine! 

Well, Doukun called up just now to wish me good luck. He actually fucking reassured me, heh. He's such a riot. I guess it was bloody lucky he found my shit instead of someone like, oh, Houjun or something. Or Nuriko or Saihitei, who have been trying to contact me for fucking coffee or something fucking mundane like that. I've been avoiding them, obviously. I swear I'll give myself away, I'm so bloody rattled nowadays. I don't even dare to go out that much in case I meet someone who thinks I'm a girl when I'm a guy, or who thinks I'm a guy when I'm a girl…shit, did that make sense?

Ahhhh! I know I'm fucking whining, but gah! So many things could screw up tomorrow, and all of them probably will! Someone's going to spill my beans, and then I'll be in for some serious crap.

Fine, I fucking, fucking confess that it probably wouldn't matter if he wasn't going to be there. 

But he is going to be there! 

I do hope he's better now, anyway. Last I heard from Miaka, who heard from someone called Tacha or Taka or something like that, he's already been discharged and is all gunned up for the competition. But hey, that's expected right? I mean, he's an award-winning photographer, for god's sake. 

Maybe I'm just letting my stupid mind run away with fucking impossibilities. Maybe he won't even notice I'm there. There'll be so many beautiful men and women there tomorrow, and I'm sure I can't compare. He'll be too busy to even look at me, let alone smile at me, or talk to me…

I miss him awfully, fuck. He's such a nice person, and he's got this way of making me go all bloody weak. He's definitely going to be better looking than every single model there and…oh fucking god, am I gushing?

Miaka better not read this. I have to find a new place to lock my stuff up. And—oh shit, the pen's leaki—

Okay, pen fixed. Right, where was I?

I don't know how I'm going to resolve this mess after the competition. Doukun's the only one who knows, and who has some fucking peace with the whole thing, but the stupid part about this whole crap is that I never thought about how I would tell him, or Nuriko, or…well, anyone who knows me as Tasu Leika. I already promised Doukun…so it's not like I can run away and disappear anytime soon. 

And since Doukun will be showcasing me as a male model…I guess that fucking answers everything, doesn't it?

I don't want someone else to tell. Since they'll fucking eventually have to know, I'd rather be the one to tell, I think. I'll tell them personally—I'll tell him, after the competition ends tomorrow. Yea, I will.

Hn.

I guess making a fucking resolution really does help. I hope I don't lose my guts, though I have this terrible shit feeling that I might. 

Damn it…I hope Houjun doesn't hate me when he knows. I'll fucking give anything in the world just to have a chance. If we can't be, like, together, at least we can be friends, right?

I guess I'll find out soon enough. It's late now, and I'm bloody tired of fretting, so I think I'd better get to bed. Can't have fucking eye-bags tomorrow, can I?

Genrou closed the journal with a loud yawn, reaching up to stretch. He pushed book and pen aside, turning and flopping heavily onto the pillows as the bed creaked in protest. With a little sigh, he wriggled deeper into the soft sheets, and within moments, he was fast asleep.


	29. 27: Fate: Faster than action

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Morning dawned in an overcast sky wrought with gray and occasional flashes of lightning. Outside, a steadily deepening drizzle painted the pavement. The neighborhood was quiet; it was a Sunday, and for most, it would be day of sleeping in, staying home, and spending time with family.

Which was precisely what Mrs. Kou had on her mind as she got up, stretched, turned and looked fondly at her still-snoring husband, and padded to the bathroom to wash up.

Today, she would make breakfast instead of sending Genrou to the stores; it had been quite a while since she'd taken on the task herself, hadn't it? Miaka and Mr. Kou loved her sesame sauce and minced pork omelette, and surely there were enough eggs to be made into seconds, if she took into consideration Genrou's hearty appetite.

_Genrou..._ Her thoughts wandered as she took the toothpaste and uncapped it. Her poor son had been extremely occupied with job-hunting these last few weeks. She had seen him, coming home, a look of woe-begone that increased in severity each time he closed the door behind him, shoulders hunched with exhaustion, heavy backpack full of what had to be rejection letters and pamphlets. Even the color of his face had begun to appear wan, almost fair. At least he was making an effort to look groomed though. She'd noticed just the other day that his once unruly hair was now smoothed back rather nicely, and grown long, so that he kept it tied back in an almost-girlish headband. And his eyebrows had been trimmed too; probably a result of Miaka's experimentation, since the girl was turning out to be quite interested in make-up and all of those things.

Wiping her face with a towel, she stepped away from the sink and exchanged her sleeping robe for a loose day dress. Then, glancing at her husband, tiptoeing towards the door with all the care not to wake him up, she left the room and headed for her daughter's room, already planning to instruct Miaka on how precisely to chop the meat. She knocked smartly on the door.

There was no answer.

She waited, and then knocked again, wondering rather crossly if Miaka had been up late again and was now too deep in sleep to hear. When there was no response after the third knock, Mrs. Kou opened the door quietly.

The bed was made. The windows were open just slightly, the cold of the wind sweeping in refreshingly through pink curtains that were already damp with the mild rain. The desk was astonishingly tidy, or as tidy as it could be, the heap of magazines and vouchers straightened and pushed to a corner.

No daughter.

Pursing her lips, she exited, but not before nodding approvingly to herself at the evidence of an initiative of household chores. Where had Miaka gone out to this early? Perhaps to the mall...she had been talking rather loudly and slowly at dinner last night about some clothes or jewelry sale, hadn't she? Mrs. Kou had thought it rather odd, especially since Miaka kept pausing to open her eyes wide at Genrou, who had then repeatedly turned red and stabbed his spaghetti. Obviously the poor boy hadn't been interested.

Well, if Miaka had gone out, surely Genrou would still be sleeping in. The thought of watching her son mangle the meat almost gave her pause as she continued down the hall, but Mrs. Kou was a strong, brave woman. She rapped at the door, not so forgiving of laxness of her son than her daughter, since men were after all the caretakers and the protectors, the breadwinners, who had to be up and about and earning enough to feed the family no matter how hard it was. She would give him two servings to buff him up later, if he was going out again to hunt for work at the streetside stores that opened on weekends.

There was no answer.

Narrowing her eyes at this deja vu, she twisted the doorknob and peered in suspiciously.

The bed was unmade, shirts and jeans and shorts lay rumpled in miniature hills about the room, the windows were open, and a small puddle of water had begun to form dangerously close to an exercise book with **MY DIARY** scrawled messily on it. Huffing to herself, she marched across the room to slide the panels shut and shake the curtains out, before grabbing tissues from the nearby box and wiping up the mess, carefully setting the exercise book aside and atop another pile of fashion magazines.

She stopped short, and blinked, picking up the exercise book so that she could look again at what lay beneath. _Fashion_ magazine?

Shaking her head, she put the book back on top, and turned towards the bed to wake her son.

It was empty as well. No son.

Where on earth had _both_ her children gone at nine in the morning?

===============

Yui sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers, glaring beadily at the sweating technician who cowered in front of her. "You must get Lights 3 and 4 filtered, Tomite! I don't care what you do! If I see one more fuzzy spotlight where there is supposed to be no fuzz and no spotlight, you're fired, you will have ruined this show, and your name will go down in infamy forever. Do you understand?"

Tomite nodded rapidly and fled.

Sighing, she crossed her legs and leaned forward, reaching up to massage her temples. She still had to arrange the template for the twelve models' cards for the digital presentation, there was one hour before the doors would be open to the public, and the last minute technical problems were driving her crazy.

There was a distinct knock on the door, and she groaned, moment of respite clearly over. "Come in!"

With a click, the door was opened, and a familiar head poked around it and flashed her a grin that immediately melted her heart and made her smile back in acknowledgement. "Houjun."

He laughed and stepped in, closing off the general buzz from outside, and carefully set his camera down on the coffee table before striding forward and dropping easily into the seat opposite her. "I saw Tomite. Claws out already, princess?"

She pouted and winked at him. "Just almost."

The week of rest—well, enforced rest anyway. Yui had heard about Houjun's brother and how Houjun himself had fallen sick looking after the guy—had done wonders. The photographer had always been particularly handsome, in Yui's opinion. It crossed her mind belatedly the question of why he wasn't a model himself. Not that his skill with the camera hadn't done enough talking for him; he had been chosen as the chief photographer for the competition. But now, he looked more relaxed than she'd seen him in ages. He had the typical businesslike sharpness that he always did, the authorial air that he always wore when he was working, but added to that now, there was a most charming easy-going impression about him. She supposed it had to do with the formal leave he was going to take; she'd scanned through the official letter from his agency, and a few more notes from mutual friends. Still, Yui was inordinately glad that Houjun was sticking around for one more competition. This year was truly going to see exceptionality, in both the girls and the quality of work.

"So how come you're so free as to drop by?" she inquired, reaching out to take her cup of coffee and have a sip. "All your stuff in order yet?"

He flashed a quick smile. "Of course. Prepared in advance, you know me. Just wanted to come say hi before the official opening."

Yui mentally added _sweetheart _to the list of qualities. "So you're free for the moment?"

Houjun gave her a look of mock-terror. "Yes...?"

She put the cup down and smacked him lightly on the fingers. "Don't give me that. I'd just appreciate some help with the template for the presentation later. Here," she reached around and pushed aside stacks of receipts and papers with scribbled directions, numbers, routines, and color schemes, before she found what she wanted, the stack of photographs. "I just can't quite decide how to arrange these. We don't want to put them shortest to tallest like last time, or anything like that, you know? Give me your opinion," and she thrust the copies forward into his startled hands.

===============

Houjun had to hide a smile at Yui's exuberance. Really, her energy and enthusiasm were the forces keeping everything running in clockwork. He glanced down at the photographs she had shoved at him and shrugged doubtfully, "You sure you want me to fix this? I'm not that good for this kind of designing, really."

At her pointed nod, he stifled another laugh, and then turned his attention to the pictures. "Alright, alright."

The first of the models was a pixie-faced dynamo of hair so blond and light it looked white, startling, brilliant gray eyes, a cheeky smile, and a decidedly advantageous cleavage. Subaru Hahm, twenty-one years old. He nodded and murmured in compliment to the photographer: the backdrop of emerald green served to bring out the sparkle of eyes and the fairness of skin, and the angle captured the vivaciousness of the woman.

"Lovely, isn't she?" Yui interjected over his shoulder. She'd come round to stand behind him so that she could see as well. "Tokaki's quite the fast one, I heard he engaged her two hours into their first date."

He grinned, all too easily imagining the amorous photographer's melodramatic chivalry. "Yes, Tokaki's a fast guy. Good choice for a wife, though...her personality just comes through this picture," he gestured and thought hard for a word that could describe its effect. "Fantastically lively, I would imagine," he finally decided. Yui hummed in agreement.

The next, Soi Rishana, he remembered from...was it Chinoarov? Yes, that was it. Slyly flirtatious gaze, graceful pose, red, red lips dangerously teasing, the elegant black off-shoulder gown featured. Houjun had a sudden flashback of himself and Tomo, standing side by side in the dark room, so close that he'd been able to feel the warmth of the other's breath in his ear, looking at the exact same photograph.

He jerked despite himself, and pushed the recollection away.

They sifted through the rest, Yui occasionally grabbing a picture and placing it in an imagined order, clucking her tongue absentmindedly. He reached the last picture, and inexplicably felt the warmth of a summer day rush over his cheeks.

Tasu Leika.

Damned if her name hadn't become a silent cliché in his head.

"Mm," Yui peered critically at it, then poked him in the shoulder. "Hey, you took this one! It's gorgeous!"

The sincerity in her exclamation made him blush, and he shrugged modestly. "Thanks."

**Flashback**

_"I want you to just sit, look over the top of that fascinating book, and giggle at me."_

_She burst into laughter, the tousled braids gleaming as she pushed them over her shoulders and waved the aforementioned book at him. "This? This?! It's a bloody trigonometry book!" and by now she was shaking so hard that tears of mirth were sparkling in her eyes. _

_He moved, snapping shots, the camera whirring. "Yes, Tasu, my dear girl. That's perfect."_

_She grinned. "I'd rather just bloody giggle at you." _

_Houjun looked up sharply, but she had already ducked her head and looked away, perusing the book with apparent great concentration. _

**End of Flashback**

She had been dressed in a pin-striped, fitted tuxedo, a zipped up white turtleneck beneath, and stiletto-heeled black suede boots. A black bandanna slipped rakishly over one eye, making her seem almost like a pirate...or a bandit. This particular shot had Tasu Leika sitting against the wall, holding the book between two slim fingers, the visible eyebrow raised, lips glossed pink in a daring pucker, legs long and stretching out in front of her.

They were silent, looking at that picture together for a longer moment than the rest, before Yui mused, "She's one of the favorites to win tonight, you know."

It would be to his credit. He exhaled quietly. Then he set the picture down and turned, giving her a small smile.

"I know."

===============

Doukun cursed under his breath as he juggled his files, trying to push the camera straps up higher on his shoulder so that the heavy weight didn't fall quite so painfully on his hip. He'd been too busy to stop by and unpack his documents and file his paperwork before today, Myou Juan having sent him to shoot a lengthy feature for a Chinese fashion magazine. Now, half an hour before the opening of the National Photographic Modeling competition, here he was, trying to balance a stack of paper on one arm, three cameras on the other, and look for his entry pass at the same time.

The security guard looked at him with eyes that were narrower by the minute.

"Just a moment!" Doukun pleaded, fingers trying to reach the depths of his pocket even as slips of paper-clipped Polaroids began to wafer dangerously on the edge of the files. "I know I have it here somewhere!"

The stack of files lost its battle with gravity and crashed to the floor.

_Noooo! Shit!_ Doukun hissed between his teeth, and finally fished out the missing pass. "There! I told you I had it!" he waved it triumphantly at the security guard, who seized it disinterestedly, gave it a crisp once over, clipped a neck-band about the top, then shoved it back and waved him forward.

Doukun stuffed the pass in his shirt pocket, and just managed to bite back a wail of frustration as he squatted down on the ground and gathered up the fallen mess of papers. It was a hideously disorganized start to such a big day. Jogging the sheets and the Polaroids together in a semblance of neatness, he pushed them into the file and snapped it shut, at which point it promptly bounced back open.

_Arghhh!_

"Do you need help, sir?" the security guard asked, in a tone that plainly implied that anyone who needed help carrying their own paper and cameras shouldn't have been allowed there in the first place. "You look like you're having trouble."

"I can handle it," Doukun snapped, glaring at the file and pulling it firmly shut once more, keeping it in place quickly against his chest. "Thank you very much."

He marched off, barely suppressing a wince as the cameras banged into his hip again.

The security guard called out "You're welcome!" in a much happier voice...before Tatara noticed a single white square of paper that the clumsy photographer had obviously left behind. Sighing at having to go beyond the call of duty after all, he came out from behind the booth and walked over, bending down to pick it up.

It turned out to be a Polaroid, labeled number 15 on the top right corner in a bold black script. The picture was of a young man, eyes darkly sullen and brooding, lips twisted in a scowl, flaming red hair swept back from a finely-boned face. A snug, casual button-down had been artfully half-opened, and showed the hard, lean planes of a defined, sculpted chest.

_Not bad at all._

Somehow though, the model reminded him oddly of...oddly of...

"Hey, Tatara!"

He lost his train of thought, turning just in time to catch the pert waitress as she bounced playfully against him. "Suzunu!"

She batted her eyelashes at him and leaned in for a quick kiss. "So, what were you looking at, all lost to the world? Should I be getting jealous?"

He rapped her lightly on the head. "Nah, just something a careless bloke dropped. I'll just run after him and give it back..." he scanned the crowd, but the mass of people was amorphous and continuously milling, and the photographer had disappeared. "Oh blast it! He's gone. Now what am I supposed to do? Keep it? I can't spend twenty minutes chasing after this guy!"

She looked alarmed at his frustration, and then an idea crossed her mind. "Tatara, darling, why don't you give it here. I was just on my way to serve the drinks and packets to the staff. What does your guy work as? I can easily drop it off."

He handed the Polaroid over. "He's a photographer. From Capri Studios if I remember right from his pass. ..Suzunu?"

"Wow..." her voice was hushed, and trailed off as she glanced again at the picture. "This is one terribly hot guy, even if I do say so myself." At his offended glare, she impishly blew him a kiss. "I do compare with the best, after all."

He snorted. "Well, be on your way. I've got work to do. Pick you up at the back at nine?"

Suzunu carefully squeezed the white square into her skirt pocket. "Sounds alright. And don't worry about this. I'll just pop it into the photography tent. Someone's bound to recognize who it belongs to."


End file.
